Families of victims fighting to tell loved ones’ stories
LOS ANGELES – On Aug. 9, 1969, Jay Sebring fought for his life as he was fatally attacked on Cielo Drive.
His nephew wants you to know that his uncle did not remain idle as his assailants tortured him that summer midnight in Los Angeles. Nor did the others who were stabbed and shot to death at the hands of a group of coldblooded killers. Ultimately, seven people lost their lives during a two-night rampage, and two others were killed in the weeks before and after the rampage.
In the 50 years since the Charles Manson attacks, the story of the tragedies has been dominated by details of the killers, cemented as a kind of mythological lore. The stories of those whose lives were cut short are ones less told.
But half a century later, the families of those killed are still fighting for their loved ones – to ensure they are not forgotten and to keep the people who took their lives behind bars.
Seated inside the Beverly Hills hair salon of Jay Sebring’s protege, Cami Sebring remembers her wedding day vividly. After a two-week whirlwind romance in 1960, she and Jay Sebring married in Las Vegas.
Crooner Vic Damone was the best man and the members of the Rat Pack were among the guests. Sammy Davis Jr. doled out stuffed animals to partygoers, a giant ram going to his stylist’s new wife.
Cami Sebring was young when she married – just 17 – and separated three years later. But she and Jay remained friends.
“Even though we weren’t together, he was part of me. He was in my heart,” she said. “We were spiritually connected.”
She hasn’t been able to talk about her former husband’s killing, too upset by the life and goals that were cut short by what she calls “demonic, manic, sociopaths.”
Jay Sebring had plans to help style men beyond Steve Mcqueen, Tony Bennett and Bruce Lee and his client roster of Hollywood’s up-and-coming stars. The 35-year-old had a creative flair and a knack for identifying features that should be accentuated, which helped him elevate men’s style at a time when fashion and appearance were deemed women’s priorities.
“He created an industry that never existed,” said Jay Sebring’s nephew Anthony Dimaria. “That industry is a nearly $20-billion industry today.”
Dimaria was only 3 when his uncle died. He remembers witnessing pain in his mother’s eyes when she explained to him the concept of heaven, and that her brother – his uncle – would not come back. The knowledge that someone who had meant so much to his mother was no longer alive was like a vortex that consumed him, he said. He wanted to know everything about the man he remembered as “the cool guy.”
As Dimaria got older, he read anything and everything he could find on Jay Sebring’s life, including what he says were disturbingly false characterizations about him that were told after the murders.
In the days and months following the deaths of Sebring and the others, police searched for a motive that aligned the lives of the victims and the killers.
“People were desperate to get the facts,” Dimaria said. “But reporting gave way to speculation, speculation gave way to narrative, narrative gave way to titillation and salaciousness. Ultimately, it manifested today as the ‘Charlie Manson industry.’”