Sunday afternoon was spent at the Whitefire Theatre in Sherman Oaks, just blocks away from the house on Hazeltine Avenue. The occasion was a performance of a one-woman show that Mariette Hartley had written and was appearing in. Mariette, who forty-four years before was to have appeared in Come Fly with Me, had not seen Mother Dolores since 1992, when she visited Regina Laudis with a problem.
Many years before, her father had committed suicide, and the pain of keeping this hidden had traumatized her. When she appeared in a television drama that dealt with a suicide in a family, Mariette heard from many others who were trying to cope with this kind of loss, and she agreed to speak at a single meeting of people who had lost loved ones to suicide.
“But when I was asked to speak on a regular basis at meetings across the country,” Mariette said, “I was afraid I couldn’t face that journey back into hell over and over.” She shared this fear with Mother Dolores, who told her, “There is an agony in going into those places, but I have learned in my years of contemplation that one’s deepest wounds, integrated, become one’s greatest power. You have to speak about it. It is your mission.”
“I speak to groups all over the country now for the American Society for the Prevention of Suicide,” Mariette said, “and there is much healing in those rooms.”
The title of Mariette’s one-woman play, written as a debt of gratitude, is If You Get to Bethlehem, You’ve Gone Too Far. The performance was also a gathering of old friends—a former college beau, Don Eitner, who directed the show; Marsha Hunt; Carol Soskin; Karen Cadle, producer of Mother Dolores’ first interview as a nun, “Conversations with God”; and Judy Lewis.
Dolores Hart and Judy Lewis were both young actresses when they met in 1960. Judy had grown up believing she was adopted by Loretta Young but, in truth, was her biological daughter. In 1935, Loretta had starred with Clark Gable in the movie Call of the Wild. She and Gable had an affair, and, when she became pregnant, they could not marry because Gable was already married. Abortion, for the Catholic actress, was never a consideration. Instead, she went to Europe, and when she returned home with Judy, identified her as adopted. Loretta soon wed businessman / producer Tom Lewis, and Judy was given his name. She learned of her true parentage twenty years later.
In early 1990, rumors that Judy was writing a book that would reveal her parentage reached Loretta’s ears and caused a long estrangement between the two. In a last-ditch effort to end the estrangement, Judy got in touch with Mother Dolores and was invited to the abbey.
“I had done all I could to reconnect with my mother and had given up hope”, Judy said. “I needed Mother Dolores’ prayers. Not long afterward, I received a letter from my mother that began ‘Would you like to spend Christmas with me?’ ”
Unbeknown to Judy, Loretta Young had remained in contact with Mother Dolores through the years and had written during this same period asking prayers for the same thing. Judy first learned of this at the time of her interview for this book.
The “Hollywood Homecoming” banquet was a joyful experience, a time of reclaiming friends, among them two wonderful surprises: Sister Dorothy Bartels, who was, before Vatican II, Mother Anthony, my favorite teacher at Corvallis; and Ralph Leo, who was a member of the Paramount production crew on the movies I made there.
Brad Dillman and Mariette Hartley shared emcee duties, and among the kind people who spoke kind words were Lois Nettleton, Carol Burnett, Patricia Neal, Paula Prentiss and Richard Benjamin, Variety‘s venerable Army Archerd, AJ Carothers, Sheila Hart McGuire, Jan Shepherd, Valerie Allen and Earl Holliman, who escorted me to the podium just as he had escorted Dolores Hart to the Deb Star Ball in 1957.
I was at ease because I felt comfortably nourished by my three communities—my Hollywood comrades and colleagues, my monastic community in the person of Sister Angele and the community of neuropathy sufferers represented by Dr. Latov and Tina Tockarshewsky—all together in that one room on that one night. In a movie, it would have been the “Carnegie Hall fadeout”.
At the end of her speech, Mother Dolores had a really big surprise in store. Loyola Marymount University president Father Robert Lawton and vice chancellor Father Albert Koppes presented her with an honorary doctorate in fine arts, which she received with open, childlike happiness, sharing with the audience the time she skipped a final exam at Marymount to go to the audition at Paramount Studios, which ultimately launched her Hollywood film career and resulted in her failing the course. Mother slyly suggested that with the honorary degree “the Lord has the last laugh.”
The next morning, Tina, Maria, Sister Angele and I were taken to Palm Springs to visit Dolores Hope, who was certainly a force to be reckoned with. At that time, she was ninety-seven years old and thriving—beautiful, intelligent, aware, deeply Catholic. The house she had shared with Bob was fascinating architecturally, reminiscent, I thought, of our chapter house, but with a huge window in the middle of the roof. From all angles, the sky and mountains were visible inside the building; outside, there were secluded areas in which to rest, to dine and, for Mrs. Hope, to pray.
We had a wonderful lunch during which our hostess requested that Sister Angele and I sing one of our prayers. We agreed that the Suscipe—I think it is Psalm 118—would be appropriate. It is short and sung three times as instructed by Saint Benedict in his Holy Rule. It is very moving and haunting because it is the prayer we say after we have signed our vows. It is a shorthand way of referring to the moment of complete self-gift to God. “Receive me, O Lord, according to Your word, and I shall live; and I will not be disappointed in my expectations.”
We drove back from sunny Palm Springs into rainy Los Angeles, the trip taking much longer than we had imagined. As Dick was at the hotel waiting, we left immediately for a high point of the trip: dinner with the Maldens—Karl and Mona and their daughter Mila.
That evening was, perhaps, the most emotional for me. I could see that Karl was noticeably moved, too. We sat with heads together the entire evening, and the years melted away.
Earlier in 2006, Karl had been presented with a medal from the government of Serbia, his native country (Karl’s real name was Mladen Sekulovich). The medal—called the White Angel—was given in recognition of his years of artistic merit and for bringing honor to his birthplace. Karl had had a copy of the medal made, which he gave to me that night. I treasure it.
Faithful Brother Iain met our return flight at JFK. His broad smile not only refreshed two tired sisters but seemed to bring all of the Community there with him. Two hours later, we arrived just after Compline, at the lower monastery door and found the entire Community gathered to greet us. At that moment, I knew this was the true homecoming.
“We always do that when someone comes home”, said Mother Abbess. “There’s a tradition in Benedictine communities to greet the wayfarer by singing the Benedictus and offering the Kiss of Peace. It’s not a big thing, and we don’t linger. The travelers are usually very tired. Mother Dolores looked completely exhausted, so we hustled her off to bed.”
The basket on the door of her cell was bursting with notes from individual sisters, each eager to meet with the prioress as soon as possible. She couldn’t resist reaching in and taking one of them. She sat on her cot and read its contents, then placed it aside and brought the whole basket into her cell. For the next hour or so, light could be seen peeking from under her door.
Forty-Two
During my reunion with Mother Dolores in 1979, following my visit with a dying friend in Louisiana, Mother took my hand and said, “Your friend continues through our work—Benedictine continuity.” It was a nice thought. I would come to know that it is much more than that to Mother Dolores.
In medieval times, when physical life itself was very uncertain, villages were prey to bandits, attacks by enemies, famines and numberless endangerments. Other Catholic orders moved about, but Benedictines stayed in one place. The stability of a monastery became a physical refuge for people. Thus, fear and anxiety gave way to
trust in the continuity of monastic life.
That same gift of stability operates on another level. By staying in one place, we are a center for constancy. No matter who they are or where they come from, the people who are attracted to Regina Laudis can find a way to connect with us because we believe everything is related in God. We are all members of His Body.
Put very simply, we have the perspective of an old tree growing to great heights in one place for a long, long time. From the spread of its roots below, the Community knows what’s under the soil, and in its sturdy branches it makes room for the many creatures that come and go.
At the center of our stability is the Eucharist. The sacrament I received as a child buried within me the comfort of continuity through the Body of Christ. God assured this little girl that the sacramental life of His Son would embrace the goodness in her and pass on through her the stability of His love. This daily Communion created in me a vision of purpose through all the situations and relationships of my life, and when this became relevant, I undertook to live as a loving person and to open my heart to those in need of me.
The continuity of the Body of Christ reveals itself to me every time we face the death of an older member of the Community and wonder how we will possibly get along without her.
Throughout her life at Regina Laudis, Mother Jerome was sought out by many people for her wisdom and faith. With her worldly background, she was a magnet for the young and the old alike. For me, she was a kind of sorority soul sister. We spoke a language that few others understood because our lives had been opened to similar places and people, to adventures that were not common memories in the monastery. When I knew this aristocratic and cultured woman was going to die, I felt bereft for the monastery, losing its tie to her world.
Likewise, when my old nemesis Mother Stephen lay dying and Mother Abbess and I kept watch at her bedside, I wondered how this woman’s boots could ever be filled.
“Suddenly,” remembered Mother Abbess, “Mother Dolores took Mother Stephen’s hand and, with such force and conviction, said, ‘Mother, your mission is to help us keep our land. Send us women who will keep the land.’ Mother Stephen did hear her words because she squeezed Mother Dolores’ hand in accord.”
—I figured I should seize the moment to give Mother Stephen a mission for her future life. If we don’t stay devoted to the land, giving thought to its future, someone will covet it. I’m always asking young members of the Community how they picture the land thirty years from now. I need to know from those younger women how they will manage the property when we are not here.
Over the years, I’ve felt not a little relief when a younger member of the Community begins to assume leadership in a region that appeared imperiled. Today there are two postulants and a novice, all products of our intern program, who seem cut from the same materials as Mother Stephen and Mother Jerome.
Laura Adshead, from New Zealand, holds an Oxford degree in classics and language. With this and her further study of international politics in Paris, she might have had a career in affairs of state. Instead she spent a good portion of her life in the fast lanes of advertising and marketing in London and New York. Her background, graceful bearing and sophistication immediately put me in mind of Mother Jerome.
—Laura is now Sister John Mary, and I’m still reminded of Mother Jerome whenever I see her in Lady Abbess rose garden. She and Brother Anthony Castigliego have constructed a gazebo there as a place for meditation. Mother Jerome, whose cell overlooked that garden, would be pleased.
Two postulants—Stephanie Cassidy and Katie Healy—who entered in 2011 seem to be a continuation of Mother Stephen. Both women have strong faith. Stephanie is an artist, but she is discovering something here related to her Native American heritage: communication with the land and with the herd.
—She makes a stunning cowhand.
Katie Healy writes songs in the Irish tradition. Like Mother Stephen, she has a connection with the land, for her songs come out of what she hears when she listens to it.
—Have you found anyone to continue your nexus?
The hardest thing to access can be one’s own continuity, and the closest I’ve come is to ask, “Do I have any continuity myself?”
I think so. I have a nominee.
Tell me.
Sister Maria Evangelista. I’ve covered several Education meetings, and from the first one when she fearlessly introduced the subject of poor attendance at Matins, I immediately thought of you charging down the third-floor hallway.
In 1995, when she was Kathy Fernandez—transplanted in New York City from the Dominican Republic—she went with high school friends to hear Pope John Paul II say Mass at Aqueduct Racetrack in Brooklyn, and by chance she met Sister Cecilia, who invited her to visit Regina Laudis “sometime”. On the subway home that day, Kathy wrote a letter asking for permission to visit.
She revisited the abbey frequently throughout her high school and college years. After earning a BA in women’s studies and religious studies from Hobart College in upstate New York, she took time out to study in India, and when she returned she resumed her trips to Regina Laudis, with her absorption of Indian culture prominently displayed by a nose pin. Kathy entered the land program. Shortly after, she became a prepostulant, the first one to chart with Mother Dolores by e-mail.
—When she entered in 2006, the nose pin was gone. But since Mother Abbess remarked that we didn’t recognize her without it, she put it back. She finds real joy in serving the theater each summer, took responsibility as stage manager, even made it part of her vow of commitment. I’m honored that you think of her as my continuity.
Another woman who entered around the same time as Sister Maria Evangelista also shares a link with me. Mary Grace Elsen, a divorced mother of two daughters, and, for many years, the financial reporting manager for British Petroleum in Houston, was introduced to Regina Laudis by one of her daughters who was on our intern program. Mary was drawn toward our contemplative life and entered at age 53. She is now Sister Judith, the name I accepted at my Clothing some forty years before.
Judith is the right name for this tiny woman. Like the biblical Judith, she is a fighter with enormous courage to face challenges and has emerged a strong and productive member of the Community, bringing her knowledge of the world of finance as well as an unanticipated talent for bookbinding.
—She repaired my antiphonal and made those tear-stained pages a thing of the past.
A palpable illustration of Regina Laudis continuity began in the fall of 1988, when that young Canadian student, Iain Highet, arrived on our doorstep to join the land program. One year later he entered the Church. Iain went back to Toronto to get a master’s in ecology from York University and secured permission to make our waterways the focus of his thesis, which brought him back to Regina Laudis. After graduation, he again returned to the abbey, living here as an oblate, and, for the next several years, while relating to the Community as Brother Iain, he explored men’s Benedictine monasteries to see if the Holy Spirit might open up some path of monastic formation that could lead him to us permanently. He has never given up the hope that a Benedictine brotherhood will exist at Regina Laudis, and last year Anthony Castigliego, a prince of a man who had been my driver for a period, and the Act Association’s Kevin McElroy joined Brother Iain; thus, his hope is gathering strength.
When our chaplain of seven years, Father Stephen Concordia, left in 2008 to establish his stability as choirmaster at Saint Vincent College, a Benedictine liberal arts school in Pennsylvania, we entered a period of three years without a permanent chaplain. There were friends such as Father Tucker and Father Douglas Mosey and Father Stan Kennedy who took on responsibility for saying Mass for us as often as they could. Then a new friend, Father Dominic Anaeto from Nigeria, was assigned to us for a year. Mostly, our sacristan Mother Maria got on the telephone each night to beg, borrow or steal a priest willing to pinch-hit on a day-to-day basis. It was all in God’s Providence.
In 2009 the most amazing turn of events occurred. Father Vito DeCarolis came to offer Mass one day and saw how badly we needed a priest and how badly Brother Iain wanted to be that priest but had no way to fulfill the call. Father Vito is a friend of Archbishop Mansell—they went to school in Rome together. He spoke to the archbishop, and, before the week was out, the archbishop called Brother Iain to ask him if he wanted to be a priest of the Archdiocese of Hartford. Of course, the answer was a whole-hearted yes—but only if it was possible to serve the diocese by serving Regina Laudis as well.
Thus something entirely new was born through Archbishop Mansell’s farsightedness and Brother Iain’s willingness to take the risk of giving himself for the life of the Community without knowing exactly where it would lead him. On May 14, 2011, Brother Iain Highet was ordained to the priesthood. On the following morning, Father Iain offered his first Mass at the Church of Jesu Fili Mariae—as our chaplain—giving us once again the comfort of continuity.
Father Iain is a hybrid. As well as being chaplain at Regina Laudis, he has accepted the exhausting burden of two additional parishes within the diocese. Further, he has no guarantee that, when Archbishop Mansell retires, the next archbishop will honor his unique call to serve both the archdiocese and the abbey.
—I pray that it may always be so. It takes courage to live without a safety net.
“Regina Laudis could have remained a French monastery, but it became an American monastery due in no small part to Mother Dolores. She was instrumental in planting the seed of an American spirituality.” So said Brother Iain to me a few years ago. I had no idea at the time what he was talking about.
The Ear of the Heart: An Actress' Journey From Hollywood to Holy Vows Page 46