The Hiltons: The True Story of an American Dynasty

by Taraborrelli, J. Randy

  Nicky’s widow, Trish, empathized with Conrad’s great sense of loss; of course, she felt it too, keenly. “Things were never quite the same for me after losing Nicky,” she says. “My heart was broken, and the next ten years would be difficult. I had a hard time dealing with it, and then raising my children as a single parent.”

  Trish says that she did remarry, an attorney from Wayzata, Minnesota. “I don’t think I was in love with him, though,” she recalled, “as much as I just felt that my children—who were getting to be fifteen, maybe sixteen—needed a father. However, it didn’t work out, and we divorced after about six years. I didn’t have any more children, and I never would—not without Nicky.”

  To this day, Trish, who lives in Palm Beach, Florida, receives a courtesy discount on accommodations at any Hilton Hotel. “I have what they call a fifty-dollar stay, which, obviously, means I don’t have to pay more than fifty dollars for any room, anywhere.” These days, she counts Barron Hilton’s daughter Hawley, who also lives in Palm Beach with her husband, as one of her dearest friends. They see each other on a weekly basis. Of course, Trish remains close to the sons she had with Nicky, Conrad III and Michael Otis. It’s also worth noting that Conrad N. Hilton III is on the board of directors of the Conrad N. Hilton Foundation.

  “I must say that in the last twenty, twenty-five years, I have been very happy,” Trish Hilton said. “I haven’t had what you would call an exciting life after Nicky, but it’s been peaceful and I’ve been content. After all of the pain I went through with Nicky, I somehow came out of it a better person. I will never forget Nicky Hilton, though,” she concluded wistfully. “He will always be the great love of my life.”

  PART TEN

  Secrets

  Conrad’s Warning to Zsa Zsa

  During the final years of Nicky Hilton’s life, Conrad Hilton was also coping—as always—with turmoil presented by circumstances surrounding another child, his daughter, Francesca, as well as her mother, Zsa Zsa Gabor. In August 1971, things took a bad turn between Conrad and Francesca, and it’s likely that at least some of the reason for the disintegration of their relationship had to do with the ongoing irritation of Zsa Zsa.

  First, a little backstory.

  In October 1968, Zsa Zsa was in the middle of negotiations for a massive advertising campaign for Smirnoff vodka. Unhappy with the work being done by her representation, she asked Conrad to step in and close the deal for her. She offered to give him 10 percent of the total she would be paid. In response, he told her that because he wasn’t a licensed theatrical agent, he would not be able to officially represent her. However, he offered to assist her agent in closing the deal.

  For a period of about three months, Zsa Zsa was on the telephone with Conrad almost every day, constantly asking one question or another. Finally, when it was over and the deal was struck to the tune of $250,000, a huge amount of money for the time, (equivalent to more than a million dollars today), she was grateful. Conrad didn’t take a percentage either, which she felt was extremely generous of him. For the final campaign, Zsa Zsa was photographed dripping with rubies and diamonds in a bouffant cream-colored gown. “Don’t darling me if it’s not Smirnoff” ran the ad copy under her stunning photograph. “Your guests expect Smirnoff Vodka just as Zsa Zsa does!”

  In some ways, Zsa Zsa felt that the Smirnoff negotiation had brought her closer to Conrad. He disagreed, to the point where he was just tired of her and needed some time away from her. However, she had gotten accustomed to calling and chatting, and she rather enjoyed it.

  This same thing had happened five years earlier when Conrad helped Zsa Zsa negotiate a $100,000 deal to endorse the new Paper-Mate Pen with ad copy that read, “Zsa Zsa Gabor says, ‘C’est Magnifique… no more ink-stained hands or clothes with my Paper-Mate Pen!’ ” At that time, after the deal was consummated, Conrad stopped returning her calls or responding to her many messages. Now he again decided on that course of action.

  Conrad’s silence bothered Zsa Zsa more than anything. Every time he didn’t call her back, her anger ratcheted up a notch. Finally, after three weeks, she was fit to be tied, or, as she put it, “tied to be fit.” Of course, it wasn’t really his phone etiquette that exasperated her so much. It was everything else she felt he had ever done to her, all sorts of incidents from their troubled past colliding with one another in her head, building and building and building until she was fairly ready to explode. If he wasn’t going to speak to her, fine. She would send him a telegram—and what a telegram it would be!

  In Zsa Zsa’s telegram of October 29, 1968, she charged that Conrad was not a good father to Francesca, and that Francesca didn’t know how to feel about him. She hoped that Francesca would be included in Conrad’s will, she noted, because “it would only be right.” In Zsa Zsa’s estimation, there were only three people in his life who really loved him—she, Olive Wakeman, and his son Nicky. (It was interesting that she left Francesca off the list.) Then, truly hitting below the belt considering the TWA merger, she said that Conrad’s behavior toward Nicky and even Olive had given them both “nervous breakdowns.” She added that he was “very cheap” and that, as his ex-wife, one would think that she could at least stay at his hotels without charge. She went on to indicate that he wasn’t so miserly when it mattered to him most, and, she alleged, he had paid the pope a million dollars to be dubbed a Knight of Malta. She reminded him that “I am no longer the naïve little girl you married so long ago. I am a grown woman now. Stop treating me like a child.” She closed by reminding him that since his first wife, Mary Saxon, had died, Zsa Zsa was still married to him in the eyes of the church. Therefore, he should have “some respect” for her. She stated that she was sending her attorney a copy of the telegram, and, moreover, she would forward to him any response from Conrad, “so you should watch what you say to me because he will be reading it, not just me.”

  By the time Conrad Hilton finished reading Zsa Zsa’s long telegram, he was fuming—no surprise there. He had just assisted her with the Smirnoff deal, made a nice fortune for her, didn’t ask for a single penny in return—and this was how she repaid him? “Gratitude was never her strong suit,” he said to his attorney, Myron Harpole. “When will I learn?”

  Conrad immediately dictated his own angry missive to Olive Wakeman, who feverishly typed it up. It was sent by special delivery to Zsa Zsa’s home at 938 Bel-Air Road in Los Angeles.

  In Conrad’s letter to “Zsazsa,” dated October 29, 1968, he acknowledged receipt of her “libelous telegram” and said that he now wished to set the record straight with her. However, before he did so, he wanted to give her fair warning that she should carefully consider the wisdom of dragging Francesca into their battles. He didn’t want to hurt Francesca, he wrote, and he hoped that Zsa Zsa would think about her daughter’s future before further antagonizing him. No one, he noted, knew better than she did about what really transpired all those years ago in New York when Francesca was conceived, and, he added, “I have preserved the proofs of what I say here.” Though Conrad didn’t specify what he could prove, he warned Zsa Zsa not to push him to bring forth his evidence. In fact, he suggested that she might want to have a talk with her attorney, Don Rubin, to fill him in on what had happened and then ask for his counsel. Regarding Zsa Zsa’s threat to give Rubin a copy of the telegram she had sent, Conrad countered with a promise of his own that he was going to forward his response to his own lawyer—the same one who had finalized their divorce. He further stated that his attorney would be eager to meet with hers anytime.

  Conrad then went on to address some of the specific points Zsa Zsa had made in her telegram:

  Where his hotels were concerned, he said, her real problem was that she just wanted to stay in them free of charge. Even when he gave her a discount, she wasn’t happy. She had, he reminded her, taken months to pay a recent bill for her time at the Beverly Hilton.

  He also wrote, “You speak about only three people in the world who love me as far as you know
. It is you, Olive and Nick. Please take your name off of this list.” He also added that it was not true that he had given Olive and Nick “a nervous breakdown.”

  What seemed to have upset Conrad most—at least according to the tone of his missive—was Zsa Zsa’s allegation that he had paid the pope millions of dollars for the title Knight of Malta. He wrote that this was “a big lie.”

  He then addressed Zsa Zsa’s allegation that the Catholic Church still recognized his marriage to her, especially now that his first wife, Mary, was dead. In fact, he reminded Zsa Zsa that the church hadn’t recognized their marriage years ago, and it still didn’t. He reminded her that they had been wed in a civil ceremony in Santa Fe, not in the Catholic Church.

  Conrad finished his letter by saying he was sorry to have to take such a harsh tone with Zsa Zsa, but she had left him no choice. He closed by writing, “For the sake of Francesca, I think you should be very careful in your statements in the future.”

  A Shocking Revelation

  Conrad Hilton and the rest of the family spent the next two and a half years—1969 into 1971—dealing with Nicky Hilton’s death and its aftermath. The Hiltons did what they could to go on with their busy and productive lives, coping with their grief each in their own way and without much discussion about it. With the passing of this time, however, the tense situation between Zsa Zsa and Conrad did not get any better. She spent most of the time working in Europe, but she was still a constant pressure in his life with heated phone calls and telegrams, the usual Zsa Zsa Gabor turmoil over one thing or another.

  On Friday, August 13, 1971, Conrad was himself scheduled to go to Europe on business. The night before his departure, he reviewed his itinerary with his assistant, Olive Wakeman, who now lived in a stylishly appointed guesthouse on the property of Casa Encantada. As they spoke, butler Hugo Mentz came into the study to announce that Francesca had shown up at the house and wished to speak to Conrad. Conrad was delighted; he had wanted to say goodbye to her anyway.

  Though he had his problems with her mother, Conrad tried his best to maintain some sort of peaceful relationship with Francesca, who was now twenty-four. He still kept her at arm’s length, but when he was in her company he acted warmly toward her.

  As she got older, Francesca continued to be much unlike her notorious mother, Zsa Zsa. She wasn’t over the top or extravagantly adorned, yet she was pretty, smart, and funny. She had an ironic sense of humor and always made Conrad laugh, especially when she joked about her eccentric mom. It was easy to make fun of Zsa Zsa, after all; the Hungarian glamour queen certainly gave Francesca plenty to work with in terms of comedy material. Being the daughter of Zsa Zsa Gabor continued to be difficult, though. After Nicky’s death, Zsa Zsa pulled herself together and went on to replace Julie Harris on Broadway in the show Forty Carats. Happily, she was a smash hit in the show—her only Broadway appearance—but it did take its toll on her already turbulent relationship with Francesca. Zsa Zsa was more preoccupied and busier than ever, even after the show closed; she also introduced her own fragrance that year, called Zig-Zag.

  On this day in August, mother and daughter had apparently endured a real blowout. By the time Francesca showed up at her father’s home, she was distraught and in tears. As soon as she saw him, she ran into Conrad’s arms.

  “What’s the matter, my dear?” he asked, startled at her troubled emotional state.

  “It’s Mother,” Francesca said through her tears.

  “What happened?” Conrad asked, holding her.

  “It’s not important,” Francesca answered, all of this according to her later testimony. “I just need your help, Dad. Can I please move in here with you?”

  This was actually the third time Francesca had sought to move into Casa Encantada, the first having been back in 1966, and then again in 1968. She was denied by Conrad both times. She had never even so much as stayed in the house overnight on any occasion. After having already been so rejected, one can only imagine how difficult it was for her to again broach the subject.

  Conrad pulled away, seemingly taken aback at being asked the question once again. Looking surprised, he said, “But you know that’s not possible, Francie.”

  “But why?”

  “Because… because…” He fumbled for words. “Because there’s just not enough room here in this house,” he finally stated. It was a flimsy excuse and they both knew it. Francesca stared at him for a moment. “But it’s just you here with Hugo, Maria [his wife], and Olive,” Francesca said, “and this place is so huge!” (Actually, besides Hugo, Maria, and Olive, there were eight other servants also in residence at the property.)

  “Well, I’m very sorry, dear, but it’s not possible,” Conrad said, holding his ground, all of this according to Francesca’s testimony about the conversation. “You know, Francie, you have always lived with your mother, and you have always been her responsibility,” he concluded.

  “But…”

  “I’m sorry, my dear, but that is my final word on the matter.”

  “I was also hoping that maybe you could lend me a little money,” she added, pushing forward anyway.

  “No,” he said in an even tone, trying his best to control himself. “I’m very sorry.”

  At that, Francesca became emotional. “It’s so unfair,” she said. She began to detail the long and troubled history she had with Conrad and how he often had not been there for her when she needed him. Now he had a real chance to prove himself to her, she said, and if he loved her, the time had come for him to show it. She was desperate, feeling alone… and putting him on the spot.

  Conrad stared at Francesca, seeming at a loss. And that’s when it happened. For her entire life, Conrad had never explained his reasons for keeping Francesca at bay, mainly because he wanted to protect her, because he loved her, and because he knew that she had been born into a troubled, damaged situation that was not of her making. Francesca was an innocent victim in all of it, and he felt that she shouldn’t have to suffer. Family mattered to him, and she and her mother were part of the family. Of course, some in his inner circle felt that he was also protecting himself and his hotel chain from any hint of scandal, and it stands to reason that this could also have been the case. But now Francesca had backed him into a corner like never before as she demanded to know the reason for the distance he had placed between them for as long as she could remember. Suddenly, likely as much out of frustration as from anger—and, who knows, but maybe his feelings about Zsa Zsa had something to do with it too?—Conrad finally broke down. “I’m not even sure I’m your father, that’s why,” he declared. “I’m not even sure I’m your father!”

  Francesca stood before Conrad, shocked and confused. “What are you saying?” she asked. “Of course you’re my father! Why would you say that?”

  “I don’t think we should discuss this any further,” Conrad said, trying to shut things down. Clearly, he did not know how to handle the situation. He then said what he often said when he didn’t know what to do about Francesca: “Why don’t you talk to Olive?” And with that, Conrad left the room as quickly as his legs would take him.

  Olive Wakeman had been standing behind Francesca, watching as the volcanic scene unfolded. She rushed over to the young woman and embraced her. But Francesca just stared at Olive, pale, empty, and drained. “There must be something wrong with Dad,” she finally said as she slowly came back to her senses. She noted that in all of their years together, Conrad had never before said anything like that to her. They’d never really quarreled. He was certainly never unkind to her. “Is he okay, Olive?” Francesca asked, concerned. “Is he sick?” she asked. “He must be sick,” she decided.

  “He’s been under a lot of pressure, dear,” Olive said as she walked Francesca down the hallway. “Come back tomorrow,” she said, as she showed Francesca to the front door. “We love you, Francie. It’s going to be okay.”

  Francesca’s Requests

  The next morning, August 14, Conrad Hilton left for
his European trip. He was upset about what had occurred with Francesca, and before taking his leave, he told Olive Wakeman that he needed time not only to think but to pray over the entire matter. He seemed angry at himself for having blurted out what he had to Francesca. Rarely did he lose his temper. He said he couldn’t even remember the last time he had done so. Even during all of the explosive times with Nicky, he had managed to keep it mostly in check. Even when Zsa Zsa pushed him to the limit, he couldn’t remember a time when he truly lost it with her. He had never been the kind of man to allow his emotions to get the best of him. In fact, he’d always prided himself on being able to find a way to keep his head about him when others around him were losing theirs. Why, then, had he let things get so out of control with Francesca? When he discussed the matter with Myron Harpole, the attorney said, “Well, I don’t blame you, Connie. Two words: Zsa Zsa. You don’t need a carbon copy of your ex-wife in this house.” It was the wrong thing to say. “That’s not true, and you know it,” Conrad said, pounding his fists on his desk in another rare display of anger; yes, this was a touchy subject. He was right, of course. Francesca was certainly nothing like her mother.

  When Olive mentioned that Francesca would be coming by the house again today to talk to her, Conrad asked her to see what she could do to make “Francie” feel a little better. Olive promised that she would try.

  That afternoon, Francesca arrived at Casa Encantada. Olive greeted her warmly. The two went into the kitchen, sat at the table, and enjoyed light seafood salads for lunch. “So, what exactly do you need, Francesca?” Olive asked.

  Francesca seemed exhausted, as if she hadn’t slept in days. She said that what she really needed was to get out of her mother’s house. It was too difficult living with Zsa Zsa, she explained, and that’s why she wanted to move into Casa Encantada. However, she now realized that her father didn’t want her there, she continued, “so, I was thinking that perhaps I could get a small apartment somewhere. Just a one-bedroom.”