The Hiltons: The True Story of an American Dynasty (39 page)

Barron had recently made headline news in August 1966 by selling his San Diego Chargers football team for a record $10 million to an investment group headed by former White House press secretary Pierre Salinger. Barron and Conrad had picked up the American Football League team back in 1959 when it was based in Los Angeles. In 1961, Conrad made the decision to move the team to San Diego. Though the Hiltons both liked a good challenge, this one was to be a losing battle. They would have only one profit-making year in the nearly seven years they would own the club, in 1964. Still, the sale price was $3 million higher than the previous high paid for the Los Angeles Rams of the NFL back in 1962. When Barron was named president and chief executive officer of the Hilton Hotels Corporation’s domestic division back in March—the American counterpart of the subsidiary now being headed by Nicky—there was simply no time for this “mad money” sports investment; it made sense to sell.

As Barron Hilton strode confidently through the crowd, the applause for him was more enthusiastic than it had been for Nicky. Then there was a bit of a surprise when, as Barron was halfway through the crowd—almost as if the moment had been choreographed—his wife, Marilyn, mother of his eight children, suddenly emerged. Wearing a diaphanous pink silk floor-length gown, the bodice of which was embroidered with pearls and sequins, she joined hands with Barron. Beaming, the couple walked up onto the stage together, Marilyn’s gown billowing elegantly in the breeze, like that of a goddess ascending Mount Olympus. As she stood stately at Conrad’s side while Barron accepted the crowd’s generous applause, some guests couldn’t help but think that perhaps Trish should have been on that stage as well, at Nicky’s side. However, as Trish would later recall it, “In a hundred—no,
a million
—years, it would never have occurred to me or to Nicky to do such a thing!”

“This is quite a honor, of course,” Barron said, taking the microphone. “As many of you know, I accepted this position back in March. Why, you may then wonder, are we just now making the official announcement?” he asked dryly. “Well, the truth is that my father wanted to have time to change his mind.” The audience laughed; it was a good joke.

Barron had been hard at work in his new position for some time. One of his first decisions had been to cut decorating costs 25 percent by limiting the colors of carpets in all hotel rooms to four basic shades that would match all the décor. If that seems like a menial decision, it wasn’t. He saved the company millions of dollars. Like his dad—who Barron says “understood the hotel business from the inside out [and] knew firsthand what it was like to clean a room, launder the sheets, and serve the guests”—he understood that little things often mean a lot in the hotel business.

As Marilyn stood proudly behind him, Barron spoke eloquently about the Hilton brand and his plans for the company. “We are, all of us here, in the hospitality business,” he said, “and it should always be our intention to satisfy and entertain our guests to the best of our abilities.” His fifteen-minute speech was so articulate and well considered, Nicky’s few words somehow seemed meager and unprepared in comparison. Nicky actually seemed to shrink just a little in Barron’s presence. “Those of you who know me well know that my father is my hero,” Barron said as he wrapped things up. “There will never be another like him. So let’s hear it for Conrad Hilton.” As the crowd applauded, Barron walked over to Conrad and shook his hand firmly. The two did not embrace. Rather, it was formal and businesslike between them—a demeanor with which Conrad seemed more comfortable.

“May we have a few glasses of champagne up here?” Conrad asked one of the waiters. After he, Barron, and Nicky had flutes in hand, the Hilton patriarch asked Eric to join him at the podium. Eric Hilton—now thirty-three—was successfully managing the Shamrock Hilton Hotel in Houston, whose out-of-town transient business was up 10 percent, due in part, according to what Eric explained to interested partygoers, to the opening of the Houston Astrodome a year earlier. He and Pat still lived in Texas; Conrad had flown them up for the festivities.

Once all four Hilton men stood before the crowd, along with Marilyn, Conrad raised his glass in Barron’s and Nicky’s direction. “To William Barron Hilton and Conrad Nicholson Hilton Jr.,” he announced. “I want you to know that you’ve made all of us proud. We wish you the best of luck in your new appointments.” Everyone then raised their glasses toward Barron and Nicky.

With Marilyn shimmering majestically at Barron’s side, Nicky’s visible discomfort seemed to grow. Apparently it hadn’t occurred to him to include his wife onstage. He now must have realized he was being outshined, not only by his younger brother’s extremely polished and rehearsed speech, but also by Barron’s thoughtful gesture of including Marilyn in his moment of accomplishment and honor. Quickly going into damage control mode, Nicky approached the microphone. Although his timing was perhaps a bit off with the toast already having been made, he did the best he could. “They say that behind every successful man is a strong woman,” he began hesitantly. “Well, I happen to have the strongest woman in the world behind me, and I think she should also be up here in this moment. Trish, come on up here,” he concluded with confidence.

Trish’s tall and slender body moved with facile grace as she walked up onto the stage. Wearing a simple but tasteful white skirt and black beaded blouse, she stood in stark contrast to Marilyn’s dramatically stylized high-fashion appearance. Once onstage, she kissed Nicky. She then embraced Barron, Eric, and finally Conrad. When she got to Marilyn, Marilyn gamely reached out and kissed her on both sides of her face, in the fashion of society women, and then held her hand. Now that he had evened out the playing field, Nicky seemed to regain some of his confidence. He walked over to his wife and kissed her fully on the lips. The crowd again broke out into rousing applause.

Nicky was determined to hold his own when it came to contending with his younger brother. On this occasion, he certainly rose to the challenge—with the help of his lovely and unassuming wife, Trish. “All right, enough of this old fogey music,” Nicky said as he whipped off his black tie and unbuttoned his white shirt. “Do you guys know the twist?” he asked the musicians. Of course they did; by this time, it wasn’t exactly a new dance craze. As soon as they started playing, Nicky pulled Trish out onto the dance floor to show the old fogies how it was done. Soon, the other partygoers joined in—jackets, coats, and purses were tossed aside along with the stiff formality so characteristic of life at the Hilton manse—and before anyone knew it, Conrad and Zsa Zsa were twisting the night away and laughing merrily in the middle of the dance floor. It was a night no one would ever forget.

Francesca’s Summer of Discontent

T
hough Conrad Hilton’s daughter, Francesca Hilton, had been in attendance with her mother, Zsa Zsa Gabor, at the gala to celebrate her half brothers’ promotions within with the Hilton Corporation, guests recall her as having not been social or even happy. Nineteen-year-old Francesca was still having problems with her mother.

Zsa Zsa loved her daughter in her own way, and the feeling was mutual. But as Francesca got older, the two continued to argue, as always, about Zsa Zsa’s selfishness and her reluctance to give more of herself. Zsa Zsa still had a demanding career and was involved in every aspect of it. She cultivated the persona she had created, and was very protective of it. Nothing was more maddening to her, for instance, than when she was mistaken for her sister Eva, who was now one of the stars of a hit television show,
Green Acres
. Suddenly, Zsa Zsa wasn’t viewed as being quite as “original” as before—people actually thought she and her sister were interchangeable: same Hungarian accent, same zany sense of humor, same hourglass figure, and same bouffant blonde hairstyle (which Zsa Zsa accused Eva of having stolen from her). Even their own mother, Jolie—who had always preferred Zsa Zsa and made no secret of it—wrote in her memoir, “They look the same, sound the same, and act the same. They are often mistaken for each other and both hate it. Even I mix them up.”

It would be a tough battle for Zsa Zsa Gabor to stay relevant in the 1960s (and into the 1970s), by outdoing herself on talk shows—such as Merv Griffin’s and Mike Douglas’s—and being ever more provocative with each appearance. After all, it was television that now provided her with her greatest exposure since the impressive film career she had carved out in 1950s did not continue into the new decade. Although she was still making movies, the plum roles just were not there for her. More and more she found herself as a guest star on
Bonanza
or
Gilligan’s Island
—even as an archcriminal on
Batman
.

There were problems at home, too. For instance, Zsa Zsa had a way at times of making Francesca feel inadequate. She strongly wished for her daughter to adopt the “Gabor mystique.” To that end, she urged Francesca to groom herself more stylishly, to dress more provocatively, and, most of all, to keep her weight down. But Francesca wasn’t a painted-doll type. She was an earthy young woman, trying to find her way in the world and come into her own as an independent-thinking person. She knew her mom well, though, and loved her very much despite her flaws.

The spring of 1966 was a difficult time for Francesca. She had spent it in the Hamptons with her aunt Eva, to whom Francesca was particularly close. Meanwhile, Zsa Zsa was having a busy year promoting two movie releases,
Picture Mommy Dead
and
Drop Dead Darling
(retitled
Arrivederci, Baby!
). Plus, she was having a difficult time with the men in her life; she’d just divorced husband number four, Herbert L. Hunter, chairman of the board at Struthers Wells Corporation in New York City, and had just married her fifth, the aforementioned Texas oilman Joshua Cosden Jr. Despite the miles between them, mother and daughter could not seem to stop arguing with each other on the telephone. Conrad wasn’t exactly sympathetic. One correspondence from him that summer, dated April 30, 1966, seems a bit troubling in its brash tone. He thanked Francesca for a letter she had recently written and noted that he was getting back to her as quickly as possible. He cut to the chase quickly, however, wanting to know how much weight she had lost and what she currently weighed. He closed with, “My love to Zsa Zsa and more for you,” but before finally signing off with “Love Daddy,” he reminded Francesca to get back to him about her weight.

One can only imagine how such a letter might have struck Francesca, who, like many teenagers, must have been a little self-conscious about her weight. Zsa Zsa found her so disagreeable, she cut off her allowance. Then, when Francesca decided she didn’t wanted to return to Zsa Zsa’s Los Angeles home at the end of summer, her mother suggested that she call Conrad. Thus Francesca reached out to Conrad on Thursday, May 5, 1966. He happened to be in New York City on business, staying in his suite at the Waldorf-Astoria. Francesca telephoned him there.

Olive’s Appeal to Zsa Zsa

T
hough Conrad patiently listened to Francesca as she filled him in about what was going on in her life, he really had no solution for her. History had shown that whenever it seemed Francesca was dangerously close to asking for real assistance, Conrad would distance himself from her and from whatever situation was troubling her. If Zsa Zsa wasn’t always motherly to Francesca, it could be also said that Conrad wasn’t exactly fatherly. This time was no exception. When he felt the conversation becoming dangerously uncomfortable, he said, “I’ll put Olive [Wakeman, his assistant] on the line. Maybe she can help.”

Francesca explained to Olive that her mother had cut off her allowance. Also, she was at a loss as to what to do that coming summer, whether she should even bother returning to Los Angeles. She and Olive brainstormed some ideas, but nothing came of them. Olive then offered to get in touch with Zsa Zsa, with whom she had a cordial relationship, and talk to her, but Francesca felt that it would do no good. By the time she hung up, Francesca not only felt hopeless, but was also extremely upset, as was Olive. Olive felt she had no choice but to appeal to Zsa Zsa.

Actually, it was because of Zsa Zsa that Olive had been hired by Conrad back in the late 1940s. She was the woman with whom he had replaced the secretary Zsa Zsa had so objected to, the blonde she’d asked him to fire on their wedding night. A devout Catholic, Olive had been working for the Jonathan Club in Los Angeles for eleven years in charge of administrative duties when Father Lorenzo Malone of Loyola College recommended her to Conrad. (“Your need is greater than theirs,” the priest told Conrad.) A petite and stylish woman who wore her brown hair in an officious short bob, she posed no threat to Zsa Zsa early on in her marriage to Conrad, and thus the two always got along. Olive now hoped that her relationship with Zsa Zsa could withstand a bit of her intrusion into personal areas where perhaps she didn’t belong. She sat down and typed a letter to Zsa Zsa on “Hotel Waldorf-Astoria Corporation—Office of the President” stationery.

In Olive Wakeman’s letter to Zsa Zsa Gabor on May 5, 1966, she told Gabor that she really didn’t know what else to do but to write to her, even though she feared that Zsa Zsa would think “I am butting into your business, but I believe that you know that I love you enough that anything I ever do or say is what I think might be helpful to you.” She continued by writing that Francesca had called, that she had spoken to Conrad for a few moments before he told her that she “had better talk to me.” She said that Francesca felt that Zsa Zsa “didn’t want to be bothered with her any more,” and that Zsa Zsa had hung up on her several times. She wrote that Francesca had mentioned going to London in the summer, and since she would not have a place to stay, Francesca had suggested that maybe she could work at the London Hilton and stay there. Olive added that she had to tell her that the company’s employees did not live at the hotels in which they worked, so that idea was not feasible. Then, according to Olive, Francesca had put forth the idea that if she could not go to London and if Zsa Zsa didn’t want her in Los Angeles, perhaps she could stay with her father at Casa Encantada for the summer. “I hated terribly to explain to her,” Olive wrote, “how odd he is about this, that he did not let the boys live with him after they grew up, and he would not let his sisters visit with him any time and as he got older he seemed more and more to want to be alone.”