In my opinion, Patricia Kennealy is a nutjob and I believe she has some serious mental issues rolling around in that head of hers.
Prior to Patricia releasing her book "Strange Days............." in 1992, she agreed to be interviewed by Victoria Balfour for Balfour's book, "Rock Wives" which was released in 1986. This book is long out of print but for those of you have read Patricia's "Strange Days" this earlier account of her relationship with Jim Morrison may be of interest.
What follows is the interview that Patricia Kennealy gave to Victoria Balfour in 1986.
Rock Wives
by Victoria Balfour
1986
Patricia Kennealy/Jim Morrison Pages 139-154
In 1969, Patricia Kennealy, a young rock journalist for a magazine called Jazz and Pop, was assigned to interview the Doors. Patricia had heard some outrageous stories about Jim Morrison, the lead singer for the group and former UCLA film school grad student who had become something of a cult hero with fans because of his provocative onstage posing (nearly always in leather pants!) and his offstage reputation as a heavy-drinking mad poet. But when Patricia found herself actually face to face with Morrison, she was impressed with his charming good manners and intelligence. After her interview with him and the other three members of the Doors came out in the magazine, Jim sent Patricia a letter saying how much he liked the article. A friendship was struck: From time to time Jim would call Patricia at the magazine or send letters, or they would get together for dinner when he came to New York.
Eventually, the friendship evolved into romance. Patricia was twenty- two; Jim, twenty-five. "We were just babies," Patricia says now. "And I was this total convent flower. It was all as inevitable as a fairy tale – like falling in love with King Arthur, or maybe it was more like falling in love with Darth Vader. He was a lover and an adversary."
But complications set in rather quickly. For one thing, Jim was still seeing his longtime girlfriend Pamela Courson, and his behavior was becoming increasingly self-destructive. The affair, which had started so promisingly, ended rather badly. Patricia sums up what went wrong in this way: "It was like starting to make a bridge from two different ends, and then when you got to the middle, they didn't meet.
Jim Morrison was found dead – of heart failure, as the story goes – in a bathtub in Paris in 1971. His girlfriend Pamela, who was with him when he died, would herself die of a heroin overdose three years later.
Patricia Kennealy is excited. Her first book, which she describes as science-fiction fantasy, is about to be published, and work on her second book is already well underway. Still, she is a little worried that in the interview she might come across as sounding like her life stopped after Jim Morrison. "The last thing I want is to come across like some sort of rock-era Miss Havisham, sitting in her cobwebbed room with her dusty memories and her old Fillmore programs," she says. Well, certainly judging from the décor of Patricia's east Village apartment – sort of medieval gothic – it does not appear that she has been doing much mooning. Granted, there are one or two Morrison posters, but for the most part the place is crammed with swords, chalices, crowns, masks, and even a high backed carved bishop's chair. All of, coupled with Patricia's rather Old World looks – fair, fair skin and a mass of thick red hair, and a black cape – makes Patricia seem ligh-years away from being in any way remotely connected to the rock world, let alone Jim Morrison.
But the fact is back in 1967, as a writer/editor for Jazz and Pop, Patricia, at a very young age, was interviewing major groups like the Jefferson Airplane. Jazz and Pop, it seems, was a well-respected magazine run totally by women – "Rather unusual for that time." say Patricia. "Pauline Rivelli, who started it, was an extremely tough cookie. But it was really strange; the women writers a lot of times got tarred with the groupie brush when they would go and talk to people. The musicians were used to being pursued on the road, with groupies throwing themselves at them from all directions. So they figured you were a total slut." Robert Plant she remembers, was a prime example, "I was backstage at the Fillmore, and God, he was unbelievably rude. I had a lace pantsuit on – perhaps" – Patricia says with a smile – "he might have had a reason for thinking me a person of easy virtue. He said, "Hey, you in the lace nighttie-come over here and sit on me lap!" We always got propositioned. You had to have a hook of some kind to get people to take you seriously." Indeed, Patricia was so incensed by musicians' treatment of women writers that she censed by musicians' treatment of women writers that she spoke out against it in a column entitled, "Rock Around The Cock." She wrote "…I tire even more of going out to do an interview and being genteely condescended to as not much more than a particularly well-connected groupie…and then…having to watch the interviewee male drop his drink at a perfectly ordinary remark as to, oh, the influence of eighteenth-century Irish-Scottish ballads on his work…"
Needless to say, Patricia did not develop any great respect for musicians. "I just had incredible contempt for them. They were idiots, they were morons. They are totally irresponsible. Musicians she'd met through her work, there was no one who sparked a personal interest in her. "There just never seemed to be anybody who was bright and interesting enough."
Until she met Jim Morrison. Patricia had been a fan of the Doors ever since she had seen them at a performance in Forest Hills in 1967.
("They were second on the bill to Simon and Garfunkle.") But up until the time she was assigned to interview the Doors at the Plaza Hotel in 1969, she'd never heard anything particularly good about Jim Morrison as a person. "It was like Byron-he's mad, bad and dangerous to know." On the day of the interview, Patricia's expectations of Jim were reinforced, when, on her way up to his suite, she overheard some groupies telling stories "about how he would stick a needle in his eye – the point was that he was doing so much acid that his pupils were so dilated that it didn't hurt." So imagine, then, Patricia's surprise when she entered the suite and Jim rose to his feet. "He had such good manners," she remembers. "I was knocked out, `cause you don't really meet good manners among rock and roll people. And then, when we shook hands, there were just sparks! He loved it. It was just
perfect."
Good manners were all well and good, but what really astonished Patricia was the fact that Jim took her very seriously as an interviewer. "He seemed to treat most people who came to talk to him like that. You didn't have to prove anything to him; he accepted you as you were." She also discovered during the course of the interview that Jim was highly intelligent (his reported IQ of 149 was `not as high as mine, but high enough," she says wryly). "He was extremely well read. We talked about music and about literature and writing."
After Patricia's interview came out in Jazz and Pop, Jim sent her a thank you note, which Patricia produces from a box. It reads as follows:
Dear Pat
I want to thank you for the fine article which I consider the most brilliant witty and amusing. (sic) You should write fiction ( I don't mean than as a slam) (Honest) Let me here from you sometime. Please.
Yours Truly
J. Morrison
After that, Patricia and Jim started writing back and forth. "It was all very innocent. His letters were just chatty letters about what they were doing, where they were going on tour, books I might be interested in."
From time to time, Patricia would run into Jim at concerts. Then, some months later, Patricia was invited to dinner with Jim and his off-again girlfriend Pamela Courson. "I really did like her," says Patricia. "She was nice. She wasn't an incredibly towering intellect, but she seemed very sweet and very pretty, very California." In spite of Pamela's presence, however, there was something going on between Jim and Patricia. "The vibes at that table," she says, "were not to be believed. I just knew something was building up. I think we both knew from that dinner on, but I didn't know where it was going to get started."
The next time Patricia saw him was in May 1970, in Philadelphia. "That's when everything really got started.
They were playing there and we saw each other backstage." Patricia, it seems, had just written a not entirely flattering review of Jim's collection of notes and poems published under the name The Lords and the New Creatures. "Apparently it incensed him so that he sent me a telegram postmarked three o'clock in the morning from L.A. A friend of ours from Elektra said that he couldn't get over the review, because it was the first review anybody'd really done of him as his work and not him as a person. I think he was a little tweaked because it was a very accurate review."
But when they saw each other in Philly, all was forgiven, and two days later in New York the romance officially began. Asked to describe the setting, Patricia seems to have a hard time parting with the memories she seems to have stored away in a secret, special place. "We went to the Ginger Man on the West Side," she recalls almost nervously. "It was springtime and it was just so incredibly romantic. Nobody could eat because we were too excited." She was not, however, so totally swept off her feet that she couldn't bring up the subject of the status of Jim's relationship with Pamela. "He told me it was totally finished with her, which is the only way I would have started up with him, because I have scruples. He swore that they had broken up, that it was poisoned relationship. He said it was half pity and half habit that had kept them together all this time. It was probably true when he said it, but
he was just one of those people who changed his mind a lot." muses Patricia.
"You never knew where you were. There was no consistency, but inconsistency."At any rate, after lunch the pair went for a walk in Central Park. They sat on the grass, Jim was his head in Patricia's lap. They ended up spending the whole day together. The next day, they went to a Jefferson Airplane concert ("He thought it was incredibly tedious and boring"), and afterward they went back to Patricia's apartment to listen to records. "He had his head on my lap and he said, `Do you want me to stay the night and keep you company?' And I said, "Well, if you understand it's not obligatory.' That surprised him. He said, "No it isn't'" There is a long pause. "It was nice," Patricia says shyly. "He was very sweet."
Jim, Patricia was soon to discover, was not as secure with her as one might think. "He could be extremely jealous. He would be full of questions about `Who's my competition?' The first time he came to my house here, he was all over the house looking for men's clothing.
"Jim didn't believe that I really liked him," she continues. "He was always asking for reassurance: `Why are you with me? He didn't believe it after the first morning we woke up here after he spent the night here for the first time. I was just looking at him and smiling quietly to myself, and he woke up and we started to talk. During the course of the conversation I said something like, "I really like you enormously." And this incredible look of pleased surprise comes over his face. And he said, `Well, no, I didn't know. I just figured if you didn't want me around, you'd let me know.'"
In the relationship, says Patricia,
Jim gave "insofar as he was able to. He was very afraid to open himself up with people. He was real scared to do that, and I think that's why he had so many problems. A lot of the personality problem had to do with alcoholism, which prevented him from doing so. But he poured his guts out in his poetry and onstage. It's harder when your audience is just one person and your bodies are naked and your souls are naked and you have to perform all the senses."
What, then, did she get from being with Jim? Patricia thinks for a minute before answering. "That's a hard one. He just made me very happy in spite of all the bullshit. He could be the unadulterated creep, the pig man of L.A. He could be incredibly cruel. I don't know how he made me happy." There is a pause. Then she says, "He was extremely affectionate – always holding my hand in public –extremely romantic. He brought me peonies when he came over once. He have me this gorgeous emerald ring, which I keep in the bank." She points to her aquamarine earrings. "He gave me these. He was very deep. He was always very interested in finding out what other people thought, how they thought, what they thought about, what they liked to read. I guess he got tired of always being the one doing all the talking. I think his curiosity would have been the one thing to save him. It just didn't happen enough."
"With people, he was whatever they expected him to be. Some people said he was almost kind of a mirror, just reflecting whatever you were. If you were expecting him to be the prince of darkness, he would oblige you." A lot of that, Patricia thinks, had to do with shyness. "I told him once that I thought he was the shiest person that I'd ever met and that he had to create a sensation as a sort of cover up. He thought that was just incredibly perceptive and very mean of me to say so."
In Patricia's eyes, the high point of her romance with Jim was when they were married in a Wiccan, or witch ceremony in her apartment on Midsummer's Night in 1970. Patricia, it seems, was involved with witchcraft. "It's not Satanism," she is quick to say.
"It's basically a mother religion, but there is also a god figure, a horned god of the hunt," Jim apparently was intrigued with all this, and it was he who suggested that they have the Wiccan wedding ceremony. So they were married by a high priest and priestess of the Celtic coven, who could have made the marriage legal, only Jim and Patricia didn't bother to get a license. "We just did the ceremony, which is binding a lot longer than til death do us part. It's a karmic sort of thing that links people through further reincarnations."
The ceremony itself involved, "all kinds of rituals and candles and vows." Jim and Patricia, clad in black robes, stood inside a magic circle that had been cast with a sword. Four candles had been placed in four corners of the room.
Then, each of them made a slight cut on their wrists with the sacred ritual knife. "It was very dramatic," says Patricia. Then Jim gave Patricia a silver Irish claddagh wedding ring that has two hands holding a heart with a crown on top of it.
Patricia doesn't know how seriously Jim took the ceremony ("probably not too seriously"), but to her, going through the ceremony was "like being validated the way I wanted to be. It was a very private thing for me, a bond I wanted
to make with this person."
Unfortunately, it was all downhill after that. First, Patricia discovered that she was pregnant. "It was an accident – the old diaphragm." And at this point, Jim was having his own troubles:
He was in Miami facing charges for "exhibiting lewd and lascivious behavior by exposing his private parts and by simulating masturbation and oral copulation onstage." But they agreed that they had to talk, and Patricia flew down to Miami to meet with him. On her way there, Patricia's mind did flip flops. "I thought, `Oh my God, this kid is going to be a god. How could it not be? But then I thought, gods have to eat and go to school. You always have to be there, and I'm not very good with kids.'"
In Miami any hopes Patricia harbored of Jim wanting her child were dashed. "Jim was really cold," she says. "It was like he really didn't need this. He just didn't want to talk about it for the longest time. He just had all this other stuff. It took a couple of days before we started to talk about it." Then when they started to talk, Jim told Patricia that "if I had the kid, it would just
ruin our relationship as far as he was concerned." "Maybe," muses Patricia, "it had something to do with the twenty paternity suits against him."
In the end, they decided that Patricia would have an abortion. Patricia flew back to New York, with Jim promising that he would be there to hold her hand throughout the operation.
As it turned out, he didn't show. He didn't even call, although Patricia learned later that he did call a couple of her friends to inquire after her welfare. "Jim could have handled it a lot better than he did," says Patricia, an understatement if there ever was one.
Why didn't he come through for her? "I don't think he was good at adversity." she replies.
"As soon as a relationship got trying, he would get crazy and run away from it. I used to think, when things got really hairy, `Well, doesn't he want to keep me?'
Apparently not, if it means work."After Patricia got out of the hospital, she was, in her words, "a complete wreck." So she wrote a letter to Jim, which she decided to deliver in person in Los Angeles. "He was staying at the Chateau. I went there, left him a note, and nailed it to his desk with a little dagger with a little skull on top of it. I thought it would get his attention, and it certainly did. He called me that afternoon."
In California, Patricia stayed with Jim's former publicist, Diane Gardner. In the apartment above lived Jim's Pamela. Naturally, in that setup, things were bound to get a little crazy. "I was at Diane's, and Jim had promised to come over. The phone rang at
Diane's, and it was for Pamela `cause she didn't have a phone. They asked me to go upstairs and get her. I was wondering when this was going to happen. So I went upstairs and got her. She opened the door and she was naked to the waist." And she was also, according to Patricia, "completely `luded out on downers, just completely wasted. So I said, "I'm going to tell you a few things' and then we started talking." Patricia proceeded to tell Pamela "everything."
Why did she have the showdown? "I was mad," Patricia answers. "I also wanted some insight on why he was with her sometimes and with me other times. It was," she says, "a very nice little talk. It seemed so modern, so civilized. She said she thought it would have been a good idea if I'd had the baby. Then she said, "Of course Jim wouldn't have given you any money or anything," which Patricia thought was a little mean.
In the midst of all this, Jim arrived. "He came in and
said, `Interesting stuff going on.' He thought it was just
the most amusing thing. But he was unsure of himself and nervous, though."
Patricia immediately lit into him. "I was just so angry and upset from the abortion, and he said, `Oh, I know, it was unforgivable. I'm a rotten person.' Of course I fell for it. We just sat there and talked. And then Pamela was there, and it was so strained. And then she just went upstairs in tears because he was staying with me, which I thought was very cruel of him. We ended up sleeping on the floor at Diane's place, and Pamela came in the next morning and found us there. He thought it was so funny. He said, `I'm never going to here the end of this.'
I think he was losing all sense of judgment at this point. Our relationship had gotten so weird with all this other stuff."This was not the first time Jim had played Patricia off another woman. "One time we were up at the hotel in New York, and there was this very strange woman who was following him around. She had just been released from a mental hospital, where he had corresponded with her. Her name was Joanna. She was hanging around the hotel, and it was the most bizarre thing because he had told me to meet him at the hotel. I went down to the lobby, and there was this person waiting for him. She said, `He's not here.' He had sent her a telegram saying that he was going to be in New York. He said he felt sorry for her and knew she'd been in the hospital and that she was a big Doors fan. Finally he showed up and took one look at her and one look at me and said, `I wouldn't have missed this for the world.' Then we all went to the movies. It was strange – he would totally ignore anything she
said and would make an exaggerated effort to lean over and pay attention to me. It was cruel, and she was getting frantic." The next day, Jim and Patricia discovered her outside his hotel room door, kicking and screaming that she wanted a divorce and that Mick Jagger was really the one. Eventually she got tired of kicking the door and left. Patricia thought Jim's behavior was cruel. "You don't send a telegram to someone and then do that. He liked to play people off one another and sit back and watch the fireworks."
In California, Patricia stayed around for a week. A couple of months later she was back. When she saw Jim this time, "He was completely falling apart." Joplin, Hendrix, and Brian Jones had all died their tragic deaths, and Patricia remembers Jim "running around telling everybody that he was going to be the next one." Patricia somehow knew he was right. "The atoms weren't going around the nucleus. It was like it wasn't him anymore. The dark side was taking over. There seemed to be less of a distinction between the public and the private. There was some very strange psychological stuff going on. And he was drinking extremely heavily."
As if that weren't enough, the friend with whom Patricia was staying in L.A. turned out to have a crush on Jim. In turn Jim's "roving eye had been caught, so I was very annoyed about that. And I ended up in a fist fight. It was unbelievable. The three of us were sitting on a couch, and she was unbuttoning his shirt. He was loving it. But I got mad at her. I'd been with him for a week, and he'd been so loving and attentive – it was more presents and `I love you his and I love you that' and `I'm going to go to Paris with Pamela but that's only to get rid of her.' He said, `I'm going to be with you in New York in the fall, and we'll get a place.' I believed this! But I dragged that girl into the bathroom, beat the shit out of her, dragged her into the hall and then threw her down a flight of stairs. I can't believe I didn't kill her. I really did see red. It was horrible, but wonderful, I was mad at him and I couldn't beat him up, so I beat up her."
And what was Jim doing throughout the fracas? "He was asleep on the couch. Completely sodden. It was like he was dead already. He was just lying stretched out on the couch with his hands crossed, and the couch was a big high dark couch and it looked just like a coffin. And his face was all green, waxy. And I bent over to kiss him, and it was like bending over to kiss a corpse. That was the end of it for us. I knew I'd never see him again."
Soon after, Jim joined Pamela in Paris. Patricia was furious when she heard the news. "I take my sword out and slice up pillows when I'm mad, and there were quite a few pillows that were decapitated at that time." Then she had a dream.
Jim was standing at the foot of the bed. He didn't have a beard, which he had shaved off before he went to Paris, but I didn't know about it at that time. He just stood there and he was so real. I could almost smell him, his hair, the way his clothes smelled. He was just there and he bent down as if he were going to kiss me and he was just gone. Then when I woke up, my wedding ring was on my other finger. It was off my left hand and was on my right hand. I don't know how you can get a ring off your finger in the middle of the night. It's very hard to get off."
After the dream, Patricia told her friends that there was something very wrong with Jim in Paris. Ten days later Patricia learned Jim had died. "A friend of mine called me about three o'clock in the morning with the news. Jim had been dead a week." Patricia got the first plane to Paris and went straight to his grave. "When I was there, it was lovely. There was a little ring of scallop shells around the grave and somebody had made a little wooden cross. It's disgusting his grave now – they have all the graffiti."
In the years since Jim's death, new generations of music fans keep discovering the Doors. For Patricia, the continuing popularity of the Doors has been a little hard on her. "It's very nice that he's remembered and thought of as a great artist but to have to walk down the street and see people with Doors T-Shirts is very painful."
She, for one, doesn't agree with those today who call Jim Morrison "The Grandfather Of Punk." "All that stuff is really garbage," she says. "I think Jim would hate punk. He was intelligent; he was literate; he was musical. Punk is none of those things. It's extremely nihilistic. He was not nihilistic. He was self-destructive, but he was not a nihilist."
If Jim were alive today, would Patricia put up with all the stuff that Jim used to pull on her? "Never in a million years!" she answers vehemently. "No way. This wasn't any kind of liberating relationship! He called all the shots. And the worst part of being with him was that I never knew whether I was going to see him again. I never asked him, `When am I going to see you again?' I was afraid to hear what he might say.""If he showed up at the door today, which I sometimes fantasize about, with all this nonsense about `well, he isn't really dead,' the first thing I would do is flatten him, like that girl in Indiana Jones."
END.
This interview that Patricia Kennealy did with Victoria Balfour for Balbour's book Rockwives in 1986 was turned into a 429 page biography written by Patricia Kenneally called "Strange Days My Life With And Without Jim Morrison." This bio was released 1992, six years after the release of the Balfour book and a year after the release of Oliver Stone's Doors' movie where Kenneally landed herself an acting role.
Kenneally went on to publish an extended version of her "Strange Days" book in paperback form which contains 449 pages in 1993.
As you can see and have read the Balbour interview covers the Kenneally/Morrison relationship in just 16 pages. Makes one wonder how 16 pages of text can be transcribed into almost 500 pages of text just six years later.
In the June 1996 issue of "Playgirl" Magazine Patricia was interviewed again by Laurie Sue Brockway. What follows is an excerpt from that interview.Brockway: Are we sitting on the connubial bed?
Kennealy: Uh-huh. The mattress is different. I saved pieces from the
original mattress. Not to mention the sheets, put away somewhere,
unlaundered--sweat all over them.
Brockway: You mean sweat from the last time you were with him, 25 years ago?
Kennealy: Uh-huh. There's probably something deeply disturbed about that
(laugh)... No, it's that chick thing. You save stuff... your corsage
from the prom...the sheets you fucked on. It's the same sort of thing