Interviews with Jackie Onassis are as rare as hens teeth, the short interview printed below was conducted whist Jackie was in Theran with Ari in 1972.
Our correspondent in Tehran is a beautiful 22- year-old Iranian girl named Maryam Kharazmi. Maryam works as a junior reporter for a local newspaper, the “Kayhan International.”
Attractive, perceptive, industrious and personable, Maryam several weeks ago achieved a scoop. She interviewed Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis who nowadays avoids reporters as she avoids the plague.
“Jackie was here with her husband,” Maryam explains, “at the invitation of the National Iranian Oil Company, which is interested in working out with Onassis the purchase of some oil tankers.
“Naturally, Jackie had nothing to do with those discussions,” Maryam reports, “so I decided I would try to interview her on her free time. I heard that she and Onassis were dining at the Hilton Hotel here one evening, so I raced home, climbed into my best clothes, and got to the hotel.
They were having cocktails with Reza Fallah –he’s senior executive of National Iranian Oil–and his daughter and some other friends.
“I waited an hour until cocktail time was over, then I edged my way over to Jackie. ‘Hello, Mrs. Onassis,’ I said, ‘I know you hate to talk to reporters. But I’ve waited such a long time for just a few short minutes with you.’ ”
Jackie smiled at me, then politely explained that she was there with friends but that she might consider giving me a short interview some time later.
“I started to leave with her and her guests when suddenly a very charming gentleman, short but appealing, took my hand and kissed it. ‘Why haven’t we been introduced?’ he asked.
“I was too astonished to say anything. Luckily Reza Fallah came to my help. He introduced me to Aristotle Onassis.
I never know why,’ Onassis said, ‘but instead of pretty girls being introduced to me they are always introduced to my wife.’
The following night I met Jacqueline Onassis again, this time at a party given for her and her husband by Fallah. She looked stunning in an orange chiffon evening gown. True to her word, she granted me an interview.
“I asked her what differences there were in her being Mrs. John F. Kennedy and then Mrs. Aristotle Onassis.
“‘People often forget,’ she answered, ‘that I was Jacqueline Lee Bouvier before being Mrs. Kennedy or Mrs. Onassis. Throughout my life, however, I’ve always tried to remain true to myself. And I’ll continue to do this so long as I live. I am today what I was yesterday and with luck what I will be tomorrow.’ ”
She reminisced about her days in Washington, explaining that she was working as a journalist- photographer conducting interviews when she met Senator. Kennedy. ‘I don’t dislike reporters,’ she declared. ‘It’s just that I get afraid of them when they come at me in a crowd. I don’t like crowds because I don’t like impersonal masses. They remind me of swarms of locusts. But having been a reporter myself, I’m aware of what problems a journalist encounters. I used to make appointments in advance to interview some very important person. Then he’d cancel at the last minute or wouldn’t show up and I’d have to take shots of somebody else and talk to chance acquaintances. ‘”
Maryam reports that Jackie was exceedingly “clever, shrewd, and professionally experienced in the ways she artfully, dodged particular questions. ” “When I asked her if she felt better as private Mrs. Onassis than public Mrs. Kennedy, she smiled and replied, ‘That’s a leading question. I’m a woman above everything else. I love ‘ children and I think that seeing one’s children grow up is the most delightful thing any woman can think about.
“‘I have been through a lot and suffered a great deal. But I’ve had lots of happy moments as well. I’ve come to the conclusion that we must not expect too much from life. We must give to life at least as much as we get from it. At its best life is not too secure and one must seize every moment as it comes.
“‘Every moment one lives is different from the other,’ she went on, ‘the good, the bad, the hardships, the joys, the tragedies, loves and happiness are all interwoven into one indescribable whole that is called life. You cannot separate the good from the bad. And perhaps, there is no need to do so.'”
Maryam asked Mrs. Onassis if stories about her quick temper were accurate.
Said Jackie: “The truth of the matter is that I am a very shy person. People take my diffidence for arrogance ‘and my withdrawal from publicity as a sign of my supposedly looking down on the rest of mankind.”
Our correspondent in Tehran summed up Mrs. Jacqueline Onassis as “charming, plebian, forthright, polite, with practically no makeup, but with large, bright, glowing eyes the basic ingredient of her facial beauty.”
Photos courtesy of the Lost Wollongong Facebook group.
This weekend saw me and my friends being granted an audience with the supreme Filth Elder John Waters.
Casing the venue before the show (I would never use the word ‘Stalking’, it’s far too common, and has been misappropriated in recent times beyond the original romantic, passionate meaning, but if we are stalkers, then we’re more ‘Stalk’ than ‘er’s’).
My filth sisters Miss Tyson, Tony, Leon and myself found a discreet back passage very near the stage door, with an elevator that took us strait to the theatre entrance and to our seats, this would be perfect for getting us to the stage door after the show, well before the slew of under prepared amateurs flailingly figured out where to go.
Once the show was finished, and before the house lights had fully come up, I’d grabbed Tyson (who was acting as my assistant, photographer and purse carrier for the evening) and made haste for the exit and elevator. In moves more graceful and perfectly choreographed than Swan Lake itself, our pre planning paid off, and within seconds Tyson and i found ourselves at the stage door, front and centre, with not another soul in sight.
Before long a rag tag group of the underprivileged, criminally insane, non-natural fibre wearing, moperer prone, borderline unstable people joined us.
The glam, fey, stage door manager glided outside to the waiting crowd and announced loudly (tho haltingly) ‘Mr Waters is partying downstairs, getting pissed, will be a few hours, and probably won’t be leaving from the stage door!’
Amazingly, most everyone shrugged, picked up their bags and left!, What is WRONG with people!?, here we have a perfect manifestation of all that ails the world today, people are too gullible, too resigned, unwilling to question, too ‘meh’ with very little passion or dedication. Alas, alas Gregory, shut thy mouth, lest you get more of a reputation as a bitter old Queen, which apparently anyone elevating themselves to a level nearing passion and concern is now labeled.
Myself and about ten others decided to stick around and see how this would play out, I’m old school, it takes more than the wiley gabbling of a paid celebrity buffer to trick me.
Meanwhile as this dividing of the masses was taking place, Academy Award winning actor Geoffrey Rush was flitting in, out and around us devotee’s of Mr Waters, too cool to stop and hang, too curious to leave our vigil.
About twenty minutes later the stage door manager shimmied out to the waiting masses, which by now was down to a manageable fourteen people. He done a quick head count, then leant in towards myself and the moppet standing next to me and said ‘Okay, give me five minutes’, giving us a look and smile, that I’m sure in many circumstances over the years involving him has meant, ‘Okay, I’m not that mean, I’ll give you what you want in just a minute’.
True to his inference, about five minutes later the stage manager brought John out to the appreciative followers of filth. Being a fan himself of many people, John knew how to organize the small group so everyone got what they wanted, be it an autograph, a chat, a photo or to give him gifts.
A few things were quirky to note, John politely declined being given hugs due to his full travel and show schedule, and didn’t want to risk being exposed to any Jimmy Germs.
If you really want to make John recoil, hand him a silver autograph pen, both days I saw him he was offered one of these pens to sign a photo, he jumped back both times saying ‘Check it first!, they leak and cover your hands in silver paint!’, it should be noted that John exclusively wears Comme Des Garcon, I sure wouldn’t want to be dressed in that, and have an over excited fan fumble toward your jacket with a leaky Texta.
My turn came and John asked me what I would like, firstly I wanted to have a nice photo taken, which he was very obliging and happy to do.
I mentioned I’d hoped he would have had more of Edie in his show, he slapped my shoulder and said ‘Oh honey, she’s been gone twenty five years!’, then it dawned on him what I’d meant ‘OH!, you mean more about her!, Hahahahaha’.
Then, in a very private, and secret ceremony, leaning on the balcony railing to steady myself, I was reaffirmed a Filth Elder by John Waters, the supreme Filth Elder himself.
It was put in writing in John’s own hand, scribed on a scratch and sniff card from ‘Polyester’, in a happy coincidence I do believe my name traverses the scratch and sniff number for a bowel movement.
The crowd around us were hushed, and I believe they knew, to paraphrase the quote from John and Yoko’s ‘Two Virgins’ album “When two great Filth Elders meet, it is a humbling experience”.
I say to all reading this, henceforth when greeting me it would be only correct and proper manners to curtsy deeply, and greet me with ‘Hello filth elder Greg’,
If I so deem fit to engage you in further conversation, it is then acceptable to address me as ‘Greg’, there is no need to continue the formality after the initial greeting.
I’d like to be known as ‘The peoples Filth Elder’.
Happy Women’s day to all the females in my life. I’m in awe of each and every one of you, tho society, inbuilt tradition and influence has sometimes made it hard for me to always get it right, and acknowledge the dept of gratitude and equality towards you, I am trying, and I hope to always keep learning and growing from you, and about you.
From my Mama who pulled a literal miracle out of the hat to have me, my sisters who mother me, my nieces who sisters me, my sister in law who takes the ‘in law’ out of sister in law, the lady over the road who befriended me as a child and taught me about art, the little five year old girls I went to school with who hung out with me (and are still hanging out with me) and enabled me in my theory that laughter was far more important than times tables (still don’t know anything other than my nine times table, which my sister in law drummed into me), the girls I hung around with down at the surf club who would take ‘no’ shit, and demanded to be treated as equals, even in the face dumb ass, insecure teenage boy mentality, the Lesbians who took me under their wing when I came out, and helped steady and guide me on my journey, a former mother in law who showed me that love and family can be adopted, and most every other woman who has befriended me and crossed my path.
Sometimes for a guy it can be a bit daunting, especially when your heart is in the right place, and you’re trying to ‘get it right’. I am constantly paralyzed with social phobia when I go to discuss women, is it PC to say ‘Girls’, ‘Ladies’, ‘Women’, ‘Wimin’, ‘Woman’, ‘Females’?????, Gah!!!!, it’s like my grammar phobia, no matter the advice I’ll never be not stricken, so now I just Preface everyone with ‘Miss’, male or female, I feel Tiny Tim got it right, you’ll just have to deal with it 🙂
Some things I won’t apologize for, I like ladies who wear white gloves, I love a well made hat, and I’ll ‘never’ apologize for opening a door for a lady, it does not mean I think you’re too weak to open a door, it means I bow to you in awed deference. For me some things are best left in a state of blissful confusion, I’ll never understand the ‘lady garden’ stuff, just so long as everything is healthy and working I’m happy for you, any more information and my hands begin to uncontrollably flap.
The more time passes and the older I get, the more in awe I become. We all take so much for granted, but when one stops and pauses (as we do on these special days) sometimes we realize “Oh my goodness!!!, my mum was a fitter and turner working at the Steelworks when she was fourteen!!!???”
Just because my Mama used to do my washing for me didn’t mean it was because she was a woman and it was her job, it was because she made my undies smell like sunshine. Now, the best I can do is to get them smelling like an average sunrise.
For all that I’m in awe.
x x
A flicker of hope in one suffering depression can sometimes be the smallest of things, like finding a small functional pocket of creativity. It helps to have a muse as inspirational, epic and legendary such as one Ms Joylene Thornbird Hairmouth.
In my filth dreams, in the coal dark blackness of night, a gang of art terrorists decend with blow torches blazing upon the dog sitting on the tucker box, melting it into a white hot puddle of molten steel.
Swiftly erected in its place by the ‘Artorrists’ will be a two hundred metre high bronze statue of Joylene, the greatest Australian woman ever to draw breath (and mascara), Joylene being at least a cats whisker in standing above Margaret Whitlam and Barbie Rogers.
Begone sad old dog sitting on a tucker box, your time is past as Australias centre for artistic randomness. Behold the first of my humble tributes to the inspiring Joylene.
“For the great enemy of truth is very often not the lie — deliberate, contrived and dishonest — but the myth — persistent, persuasive, and unrealistic. Too often we hold fast to the clichés of our forebears. We subject all facts to a prefabricated set of interpretations. We enjoy the comfort of opinion without the discomfort of thought”.
President John F. Kennedy
