It didn't matter that he was six thousand miles away when the tragedy occurred. Typical was a Newsweek story calling the massacre not a tragedy, but a "fascinating whodunit" and reporting, among other ridiculous speculations, that the murders might have "resulted from a ritual mock execution that got out of hand in the glare of hallucinogens." The press even implicated Roman. What made them even uglier was the media orgy of lies, all of which came down to one outrageous innuendo: because of their "decadence," the victims had somehow brought it on themselves. The horrific murders of Sharon, and her friends by the insane followers of Charles Manson sent a shock wave through Hollywood that is still felt today. Though I could do little, at least I was there. I felt his pain Even though criticized, I went the extra nine yards, doing whatever I could, whatever to ease his suffering. How I remember cradling Roman as if he were a child. The LAPD put their own tap on my phone, which became an integral instrument in their investigation. It necessitated having around-the-clock guards for the duration of his stay. Every crackpot in the state wanted to get a jab in. Not wanting to leave him alone at Paramount, Roman moved into my guest house. There, he hibernated for a few days, heavily sedated by a Paramount doctor. When Roman arrived from London, I arranged for him to be driven to Paramount, and installed in the suite that had recently been Julie Andrew's dressing room for Darling Lili. I told him what happened, and we went out to sit under the tree. "Let's go outside and get started." "I can't, I can't, Charlie." I started to cry. Charlie Bluhdorn had been pacing my living room impatiently, "Come on, Evans," he said when I walked in. "Joyce, are you making this up? From the sound of her voice, I knew she wasn't. "A landslide?" "No, they were murdered-some kind of massacre." "Sharon, Jay Sebring, Gibby Folger, that Polish Voytek what's-his-name." Last night at Sharon and Roman's house on Cielo. "You didn't hear?" "Hear what?" "It's on the radio. "You aren't dead!" "Joyce, what are you talking about? Of course I'm not dead!" When she heard my voice, Joyce started wailing. "I thought I said no calls this morning, David." When we returned to my house on Woodland Drive, David, my major domo, was standing at the door. (He then goes on about having a meeting the next morning at his house with the head of Paramount Studios, Charlie Bluhdorn.) I can always get Jay." Jay was the star hairdresser Jay Sebring, an ex-boyfriend who was still devoted to her. I might be a little late." At nine o'clock on Friday, August 8, 1969, I was still in the editing room. Dinner at a nothing place like El Coyote on Beverly. How about joining her, and a few friends on Friday night? It would just be her house guests, Gibby Folger, of the San Francisco coffee family, and Gibby's boyfriend, Wojiciech "Voytek" Frykowski, a Polish rogue, and great friend of Roman's. She loved feeling the baby kick, but she felt cooped up. Now Sharon was on the phone from the house they were renting on Cielo Drive, up in Benedict Canyon. from London)īefore I took off for L.A., Roman said, "Look after Sharon for me, will you Bob?" "Tell her I love her." "I'll be home in a few days." (Robert Evans talks about traveling back to L.A. Around his gentle, sun-kissed bride he was like a child who's just seen his first Christmas tree light up. In Roman's eyes she was already the brightest star in the world.
#Sharon tate autopsy baby movie#
Sharon's movie career was just beginning to heat up after Valley of the Dolls. Coming from a childhood horror in Nazi-occupied Poland, Roman couldn't believe he was the husband of this milk-fed American beauty. Just about the only really happily married couple I knew in Hollywood were Roman Polanski, and Sharon Tate.
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