The Hiltons: The True Story of an American Dynasty

by Taraborrelli, J. Randy

  From San Francisco to New York, Berlin to Trinidad, Puerto Rico to the Nile there were Hilton hotels. In 1962 alone, Hilton hotels opened in Tehran, London, Portland (Oregon), Rotterdam, Rome, Athens, Hong Kong, Tokyo, and New York City (where the $57 million New York Hilton had just opened, of which the Hilton Hotels Corporation actually owned only 25 percent and ran the hotel on a management contract). Plans for 1963 included openings in Milwaukee, Honolulu, and Montreal (at the airport, which constituted the property as an “Inn” and was therefore in the purview of Nicky Hilton).

  Also being planned in 1963 were junkets for the Hong Kong and Tokyo Hiltons, both scheduled for June. By the end of 1963, the Hilton Hotels Corporation would own, lease, or manage sixty properties in nineteen countries around the world, with more than 40,000 rooms and 40,000 employees. It should be noted that unlike Chicago’s Palmer House or the Conrad Hilton (formerly the Stevens) or Houston’s Shamrock Hilton—all examples of hotels owned wholly and outright by Conrad Hilton—the hotels overseas were either leased or run on a management contract.

  Also worth noting is the level of confidence the Hilton name had earned around the world by the beginning of 1963. For instance, tourists had once been reluctant to visit the Nile, fearing the local drinking water. But once they realized that they could check into a Hilton hotel—where they could avail themselves of reliable plumbing and electricity, direct-dial telephones, and other creature comforts, not to mention special perks like air-conditioning in each room and refrigerators in the bathrooms that generated their own ice cubes—most reluctance to travel to the area seemed to be lifted. The Nile Hilton had brought in more than $12 million in foreign tourism since its opening. Along with the fact that people of every nationality worked at Hilton hotels around the world, it was impossible to escape the conclusion that Conrad Hilton had brought people together from all walks of life, earning money together and spending it as well—thus the slogan Conrad had adopted for his international hotels: “World Peace Through International Trade and Travel.” Or as his friend Henry Crown put it to Life magazine in 1963, “Next only to the Peace Corps, Connie Hilton’s hotels around the world have done more for the U.S. than any other thing. And the State Department ought to be the first to say so.”

  Though 1963 would always be remembered as a tragic and even traumatizing year in this country because of the November assassination of President John F. Kennedy, it was still a booming year for the travel and hotel industries. It would end with the Hilton Hotels Corporation’s assets totaling a staggering $289 million—an amount that would today be equivalent to a little more than $2 billion. That sum included all of the domestic and international hotels, as well as the inns and other subsidiaries such as the Carte Blanche credit card business, of which Barron Hilton was in charge. Conrad and his family controlled about a third of the company’s stock, and the rest was divvied out to investors, the biggest being Conrad’s longtime friend hotel mogul Colonel Henry Crown.

  Sibling Rivalry on the Rise

  It gives me the greatest of pleasure to first introduce the new chairman of the Executive Committee of Hilton International. My son, Nicky Hilton,” Conrad Hilton intoned. “Or as I like to call him, Conrad Hilton Jr.”

  It was the evening of October 1, 1966, and Conrad Hilton was hosting another of his lavish parties at Casa Encantada, this one to announce the promotions of his two eldest sons, Barron to president and chief executive officer of the Hilton Hotels Corporation’s domestic division, and Nicky to the position of executive in charge of the international subsidiary of the Hilton Corporation. So vital and arresting did Conrad look in his white tuxedo jacket and black tie, it was difficult to reconcile that he was rapidly approaching his eightieth birthday. Though Conrad was still chairman of the board of the Hilton Hotels Corporation, he had recently stepped down as president and chief executive officer—thus the vacancy filled by Barron—to devote most of his attention to the company’s all-important international division, now headed up by Nicky.

  The gathering over which Conrad presided on this Saturday evening took place on one of his estate’s many lavishly landscaped courtyards under a night sky aglow with stars, the towering glass buildings of Westwood shimmering in the distance. This was not a raucous celebration. Rather, the event was designed to project the dignity of true accomplishment in the world of business. That said, there was still a strong sense of success and achievement in the air; everyone was quite excited. These were the best of times, and everyone seemed to realize it. As a little more than a hundred guests, all in formal wear, enjoyed the refined tranquility, a ten-piece orchestra provided the perfect backdrop of pleasant but unobtrusive cocktail party music.

  In his new position, Nicky Hilton would be responsible for all of the Hilton-leased hotels abroad in twenty-five countries. Actually, Nicky began his work with the international division at the start of 1966, but the official announcement would not be made until this night in October. It was a tremendous responsibility, but one his father—and the corporation’s board of directors—had decided the forty-year-old Hilton scion could handle. Ever since his marriage to Trish McClintock seven years earlier, Nicky had worked hard to rehabilitate his image not only in Conrad’s eyes but in those of his younger brothers, Barron and Eric, as well. Nicky was more devoted to the company than ever; Hilton hotel business rarely left his thoughts. In recent years, he had done an excellent job of heading up the company’s Inns Division, increasing its profit margin by more than 30 percent in the last three years. Meanwhile, in his private life, he had grown to truly love Trish and his sons, Conrad and Michael, who meant the world to him.

  The party to announce the dual promotions of Nicky and Barron was attended by many of the Hilton Hotels Corporation’s officers and board members, such as billionaire hotelier Henry Crown and his wife, Gladys, to whom he had been happily married since 1946. Conrad’s first wife, Mary Saxon, mother of Eric, Barron, and Nicky, was present, as was his second wife, Zsa Zsa, along with Francesca. (Six months earlier, Zsa Zsa had divorced her fifth husband, Texas oil baron Joshua S. Cosden Jr. “We were both in love with him,” Zsa Zsa explained at the party. “I fell out of love with him, but he didn’t!”)

  As uniformed waiters passed through the crowd with tall Baccarat crystal flutes of Veuve Clicquot and a variety of seafood hors d’oeuvres, Nicky Hilton—looking Rat Pack suave in a perfectly tailored black jacket and matching pants with a crisp white shirt and black bow tie—walked up to the makeshift stage to join his father in front of the microphone at a wooden podium, the front of which was emblazoned with the Hilton Hotels insignia.

  “Those of you who know me well probably believe that this is the last thing in the world you’d expect from me, the idea of being a big shot with my pop’s company,” Nicky said with a grin. “Don’t forget, I’m the guy who once described myself in the press as a professional loafer,” he added. Everyone laughed—everyone, that is, except for Conrad. A flicker of annoyance crossed his face.

  “Seriously, I want to thank my father for this vote of confidence,” Nicky continued, turning to face Conrad. “I promise, I won’t let you down, sir,” he said. Then, as if suddenly overcome by a strong and unexpected wave of emotion, Nicky took a step toward Conrad and wrapped his arms around him in a tight embrace. The hug just lasted a moment, though, before Conrad pulled away and made his way back to the microphone. “And now,” he said, “I would like to introduce the new president and chief executive officer of the Hilton Hotels Corporation’s domestic division, and that would be my son Barron.”

  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

  Though 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.