The Ear of the Heart: An Actress' Journey From Hollywood to Holy Vows

by Hart, Dolores

  I arrived at the monastery with my mind cluttered with garbage that can filter out the silent beauty of the place. I had left five hundred bucks in traveler’s checks at the hotel and couldn’t get out from under the ridiculous bother of that. At the monastery, one’s selfishness is so apparent. Vanity becomes a piece of fat that can’t be digested. Even if it is spat out, the disgusting evidence is too ugly to face. There it made me feel unreal—phony.

  “By this time,” said Mother Placid, “it was no secret that our regular guest was a famous actress, but to my knowledge no one in the Community had ever seen her on the screen. I would never have asked to see one of her movies, but Mother Maria Joseph, who was in charge of our monastic art shop, was less inhibited. Once, when Dolores was in the shop, Mother Maria Joseph said she was sure the Community would appreciate seeing one of her films.”

  I was surprised but, frankly, pleased by her request, and I asked Fox if a screening of Lisa might be arranged. I thought it would be the most appropriate of the movies I had made, and it was the one of which I was most proud.

  As before, I met with the nuns in parlor through the grille. Mother Columba had become solicitous of my privacy and assumed a protective attitude. She was very dear, so concerned about keeping my visits a secret that, when we would meet in Saint Placid, one of the three parlors, she would always remove her cloak and hang it over the window that looked out onto the road to keep prying eyes from peering in. It was the era of La Dolce Vita and the rise of the paparazzi, but I couldn’t fathom how she knew about such things.

  —I think she just enjoyed the dramatics of it.

  I stayed mostly to myself. I walked in the woods and sat in sunny green fields watching lazy clouds overhead and wondering whether I would be able to come to grips with my life. Hours passed in a strange calm—one that preceded a terrible storm? I sat in the sun like a lizard waiting, waiting. I began a diary:

  Lately, in much company, I can hardly wait for solitude. Yet in my own company, the time does not pass quickly enough. Is it loneliness I want to leave or learn to embrace? Comradeship that I am looking for or fleeing from? I wonder, what would it be like to be free to exist solely to find God? But, would I know what to do even then?. . . I want so desperately to run away from this place—but to where? Back to the wasting of moment to moment, awaiting the temporal alleviation of boredom by trivial excitement? No, I must stay here and wait for another signpost. Listen, you fool. But to what am I listening?

  I pondered the strange new awakening in my heart that cried for explanation. I had been so relieved that I hadn’t had one of those “visitations” during Lisa. Yet I couldn’t get Stephen’s words out of my mind: “You’re marked.” He had spoken softly but with such sureness.

  When I returned to Los Angeles, I began to realize that the elan I once carried back from Regina Laudis was no longer transportable. The all-embracing experience of peace that I had been able to leave with, I was unable to take with me now. The absence of these consolations was so intense, I ached. All that I could hope for was a little grace.

  Sixteen

  Catholics of the Motion Picture, Radio and Television Industry handed out annual awards—gold medals of Saint Genesius, the patron saint of actors—to show appreciation to outstanding members. The occasion for the award-giving was James Francis Cardinal McIntyre’s annual Hollywood Communion Breakfast, which featured a parade of Catholic movie stars whom we in the press referred to as the “Catholic Mafia”.

  The breakfasts began in 1951 and migrated from a small affair at the Jesuits Church of the Blessed Sacrament to the Beverly Hilton Hotel. At her first breakfast in 1958, Dolores was introduced to a Mrs. Tom Lewis and told her how much she looked like Loretta Young. Mrs. Tom Lewis was Loretta Young.

  At the eleventh gathering in 1962, Dolores received a medal and was one of two speakers; the other was Clare Boothe Luce, the writer not only of Come to the Stable but also of the hit Broadway play The Women.

  Dolores message was to urge the Industry to maintain a high standard of morality while fulfilling its role in the worldwide communications sphere, but she veered from her text and reminded the starry audience of a more personal responsibility:

  Our problems, worries, frustrations are nothing but pride. Every one of us has too much pride to put our trust in God. No matter who we are, no matter how big a star, we must trust humbly in Him and by doing so, we will reach that ultimate reality which is in Him.

  The stars in the audience—Jane Wyman, Pat O’Brien, Jimmy Durante, Rosalind Russell, Ricardo Montalban and Ramon Novarro, as well as two close friends now, Loretta Young and Irene Dunne—rose to pay tribute to the young actress.

  Although I would look forward to the times when Don and I would be together, I was always on guard. Was I avoiding the prospect of marrying Don or the prospect of marriage itself? Looking back, my deeply unsettled feelings about a vocation wouldn’t allow me to make any commitment unless I was backed into a corner, which certainly wasn’t the most encouraging proposition for Don, or the most flattering. His patience was wearing thin, and he deserved to have some indication that my feelings would be resolved one way or another.

  I did have a practical reason for pushing back the thought of marriage. I had a real conscience problem about being a good wife and mother and at the same time having the kind of career I knew I wanted. This was something I would have to work on during our upcoming separation. I was set to do another film for MGM that would take me to Europe in the spring, and Don had issued an ultimatum. He felt it would be wise for us not to have any communication with each other while I was in Europe.

  In Europe I plunged feverishly into work. Still, Don lingered in my thoughts. Several times I would start to write him and then remember I wasn’t supposed to. I wished for the phone to ring and to hear his voice at the other end. But Don stuck to his self-imposed quarantine.

  Come Fly with Me is a pleasant, if routine, addition to the enduring Hollywood formula of three pretty girls in search of love and security. Lightweight but attractively cast, with travelogue-like locations in London, Paris and Vienna, it marked the second time Henry Levin directed Dolores, who was again top billed, not a small consideration in the Industry, in which billing is currency.

  Dolores, Pamela Tiffin and Mariette Hartley were cast as three airline stewardesses on a New York-to-Europe run who are looking for Mr. Right, played by Karl Boehm, Hugh O’Brian and, surprisingly, Karl Malden, whose presence made the movie look more substantial than it was.

  With their shared theater backgrounds, Dolores, Mariette and Malden rehearsed unofficially for a few weeks prior to production, frequently at Malden’s Brentwood home. Years later Mariette recalled, with lingering disappointment, that she was replaced just before shooting began. “The physical required by studios for insurance purposes showed I had hepatitis. A subsequent examination proved I had been misdiagnosed, but by then it was too late.” A talented New York actress, Lois Nettleton, had stepped into the role. Mariette lost the part, but her budding friendship with Dolores was only put on hold.

  The company was probably the happiest I had ever worked with. Pamela and I bonded quickly at Grace Down’s Airline School in New York, where we took classes to prepare for our roles as flight attendants.

  Pamela Tiffin recalled, “It was only my fourth film, and Dolores was so experienced. I looked up to her. She was decent and sensible—and a bit of a smart aleck, which I liked. She was fresh bread.”

  Pamela was surprised to learn that Dolores had tested for her role in Summer and Smoke. “She never mentioned it. And she was so helpful to me, not the least bit competitive or jealous. Well, that was Dolores. I used to think, if we had to send a perfect example of American womanhood to Europe, it would be Dolores.”

  During the early days of production, Twentieth Century-Fox came through on my request to screen Lisa at the monastery. I must say, the studio was very generous. They sent not only a 35 mm print, but a screen, a projector and a proje
ctionist as well.

  “It was quite unusual”, Mother Placid remembered. “Movie showings were extremely rare, and we had never had a professional projectionist. The two movies we had seen were on a tiny black-and-white television set. We were in the midst of building a new wing in the monastery, and we were practically outdoors. We had to wait until it was dark to begin. We sat on boards placed across the holes in the floor. Most of the Community was present and found the film very moving, but there were some women who preferred not to attend.”

  Although Mother David, the nun who had months before directed Dolores out of the enclosure, shared her sisters’ opinion that movies had no place in contemplative life, she did attend, but she sat with her back to the screen.

  Mother David recalled, “I had left the world and had come to this Community, which was very eremitical in its orientation, with this desire for a purity of life, so, yes, I was making a protest. I sat in a window frame and looked out. Of course, I heard the whole thing and was intrigued.”

  Three lifelong friendships were born during the making of Come Fly with Me. One was with Lois Nettleton, who made her movie debut in that film. “I was intimidated at first”, Lois recalled. “I was so new to films and Dolores was a star. I was cast late and rushed to the Paris location where filming had already begun. I didn’t even have time to pack properly and had only one nice dress with me. Dolores was an absolute darling. For the first week or so, she loaned me her clothes like we were old roommates.”

  Dolores didn’t speak of her visits to Regina Laudis to many people. Lois was one with whom she did share her feelings about the monastery. “I was a lapsed Catholic when I met Dolores. She told me that whenever things got a little rough, when she needed some comfort, she went to Regina Laudis. ‘Don’t forget this,’ she said, ‘if ever life gets too much for you, they’ll look after you. They’ll put you up and you can refresh yourself.’ I’ve followed that advice many times.

  “In Vienna we were all invited to a prince’s birthday party at a castle. I remember we met Peter Sellers that night, and he monopolized Dolores. He had seen an early screening of Lisa and told her he wanted to find something they could do together.”

  When the company moved to London, Dolores received a script from Sellers and, a few days later, a call—presumably to see if she had read it, but actually to ask her on a date.

  I accepted his invitation to go to the Ascot races, and it was a fun afternoon that stretched out to include dinner at a very “in” place. Afterward, we went to his Dorchester hotel suite, where there was a party going on. It was London in the Swinging Sixties, and I felt out of place, but it wasn’t until a young waiter leaned over and whispered to me, “Miss Hart, I don’t think you should be here”, that I realized what kind of a party it was and slipped out.

  Sellers called her later to apologize and asked her out again. They had dinner in a small, quiet restaurant this time, much more to her liking, and at the end of this pleasant evening, he saw her to her flat. At her door, Sellers asked to come in, but she begged off, saying she had an early call.

  Sellers then asked for a glass of water. Dolores went to the kitchen, and when she returned with the water he was gone. Bewildered, she locked the door, kicked off her shoes and went into the bedroom. There, waiting in her bed—starkers—was Sellers.

  It was a scene in a farce, and I couldn’t help laughing. Peter said it would be a lovely way to end the evening and insisted—somewhat immodestly, I thought—that it would be the experience of a lifetime for me. I asked him to leave. Peter politely conceded and—now suddenly modest—asked if I would turn my back while he got dressed.

  When he came into the living room he shook my hand very formally and said good night. Billy Wilder couldn’t have written it better. Actually, we did have dinner several more times, but we never repeated that scene. We maintained a friendly—and decent—relationship.

  The second person with the film in whom Dolores confided was pert and pretty Valerie Imbleau. Val was a purser for Pan American World Airlines on a flight from Istanbul to London when Henry Levin was a passenger. Levin took a shine to her and asked if she would like to be technical consultant on Come Fly with Me. Val saw no way the airline would grant her a leave of absence; consequently, Henry got MGM to contact Pan Am. The next thing Val knew, she was on the company’s Vienna location.

  Val was immediately embraced by the entire cast, but a firm bond was formed with Dolores, whom Val thought of as “the great listener, the great empathizer”. Dolores called Val her “little sister”. They shared a deep spirituality, and when Dolores spoke of Regina Laudis to Val, she planted a seed that would have an unexpected yield.

  Karl Malden was the third lasting friend Dolores made during the filming of that movie. Dolores had admired Malden’s work; the mere fact that he was in the cast, she felt, continued her good luck of working with the best.

  More than forty years after they worked together, Malden reminisced, “She was more than a friend. She was family. During filming in Paris, I had my wife, Mona, and daughters, Mila and Carla, with me; and whenever Mona and I wanted to go out, Dolores babysat the girls.”

  —It was like being with girlfriends. If we stayed in, I would tell them ghost stories, and when we went out, it was usually to shop. There’s no better place to shop than Paris.

  “Dolores”, Malden told me, “had a lot of talent, but she had something extra. I’m referring to the fifty percent needed for the audience to like you. She had that. She could have been as big as Elizabeth Taylor. But ultimately, she didn’t belong in that environment, not with the kind of heart she has. I love her for her decision. I always felt she wanted to be taken care of. She now takes care of others. And I’m sure she’s good at that because she understands the need.”

  With continued press interest in Dolores, and since she was constantly on loan-out from Wallis, it was decided that she should get a personal press agent rather than rely on the studio. Her present salary of $3,000 a week permitted the extra expense, and Harry felt it was necessary not only to keep her in the public eye, but to ensure that her name was kept in front of producers, too. Veteran publicist Frank Liberman was hired, though at first he didn’t want the job. “I once handled Shelley Winters and didn’t much like representing actresses”, he said. “When it comes to paying me or buying a new dress, the new dress always wins out.”

  Meeting reporters was always a bit of a fencing match, but I learned to enjoy sparring over provocative questions rather than becoming argumentative. I could always count on reporters to ask old-hat questions such as, “What kind of books do you read?” Since I was into the works of Teilhard de Chardin and Saint Thomas Aquinas, the discussion would usually open up the area of personal belief. I became very conscious that I could utilize interviews to promote Catholic action.

  I really thought that might be my place in God’s scheme—to throw light on the Church. I hadn’t experienced one of those “hauntings” during the production of Come Fly with Me. Unless you count the day I picked up a Paris newspaper whose headline read, “Marilyn Monroe Morte”. That news affected me more profoundly than I would have expected, and for the rest of the filming those old questions, the ones whose answers had been withheld—or avoided—troubled me: What am I doing? Where am I going?

  Come Fly with Me hit the top-ten moneymakers the week of its opening in seventh place, just below To Kill a Mockingbird and above The Longest Day. Reviews were mixed. Bosley Crowther in the New York Times called it “bright, colorful and fun”. The Daily News added “appetizing”. The Hollywood Citizen News called it “the kind of film Ernst Lubitch used to do”. Time, on the other hand, warned that it boasted dialogue “right out of a high school play”. But the cast came off well with Dolores rating high compliments, from “a delectable sugar-coated pastry” to “one of our more exciting young actresses”. The only out-and-out knock she got was for the awkward way she smoked a cigarette in the movie. Ironically, that role got Dolores—a confi
rmed nonsmoker—listed on the website starswhosmoke.com.

  Seventeen

  “When I marry, it will be for all time.”

  That was what I told Louella Parsons, arguably the queen of the gossip columnists in those days, during an interview just after I returned from Europe. I didn’t have a dewy-eyed concept of marriage that young girls usually have. I balked at the notion that a woman is incomplete without the love and companionship of a man. Don thought I was afraid of marriage because of my father’s behavior. I thought he could be right. Deep hurts don’t heal easily.

  Don remembered that, at their first meeting, Dolores spoke of her visits to Regina Laudis during her year on Broadway. “I knew when I started to date her that she had had feelings about a vocation. She told me about her visits to the monastery, but I didn’t give them a second thought.”

  It was what she didn’t say that was important. She did not tell Don about her subsequent visits after she had moved back to Los Angeles.

  When Come Fly with Me finished, Granny joined me on a motor trip to Rome with Henry and Ethel Levin. We had a brief stopover in Monte Carlo, where I won at roulette and thought of how happy Tony Quinn would be now that I was legal. In Rome I rendezvoused with Harry Bernsen, a very happy agent indeed, who had a small fistful of film possibilities. So, in the summer of 1962, I wasn’t concentrating on my love life. I was riding high on my career.

  How could she not feel confident? Wherever she turned she heard herself referred to as “the new Grace Kelly”. Even in Monte Carlo, people stopped in their tracks and stared when she entered the casino. Dolores was dressed to the teeth—in the mink, of course, and very blond—but she had never incited that kind of reaction before. The gambling tourists had mistaken her for Kelly, and the shocked reaction was because the princess never set foot inside the casino.