The Hiltons: The True Story of an American Dynasty

by Taraborrelli, J. Randy

  An Offer He Could Refuse

  On June 20, 1947, at just twenty, Barron Hilton married Marilyn June Hawley at St. Vincent de Paul Church in Chicago. “Her family had a home up in Lake Arrowhead,” recalled Conrad’s attorney Myron Harpole, “and that’s where Barron and Marilyn first got acquainted. She was a wonderful girl. You couldn’t help but fall for her.”

  At the time of her marriage, Marilyn—born in Los Angeles on February 11, 1928—was a pretty and stylish woman who wore fashionable yet simple clothes with classic lines. Her hair was dark blonde, her makeup usually consisting of little more than the red lipstick of the day. She certainly didn’t have the flashy glamour of a celebrity, but her smile radiated great warmth. It was easy to see why Barron, who had grown up to be so serious and determined, would be attracted to such a striking, unassuming woman. Because of her great charm, friends like the actress Carole Wells remember her to this day as “beautiful.”

  The couple would have their first of eight children in 1948, William Barron Hilton Jr. Then, in 1949, along came Hawley Anne Hilton. By the time he was twenty-two, Barron was settled into a happy home life.

  Just before he had his first son, Barron announced that he had been giving his future a great deal of thought and had come to the conclusion that he, like his older brother Nicky, who was working at the Bel-Air Hotel, wanted to work in the hotel business, and specifically for the Hilton organization. By this time, the Hilton Corporation had gone public, with its stock listed on the New York Stock Exchange; Conrad was the corporation’s largest stockholder with more than $2 million in holdings.*

  Conrad Hilton owned twelve major hotels by the time Barron decided he wanted to be involved in the family’s enterprise, nine of which were folded into the corporation and worth over $51 million. (The other three remained independent of it for technical reasons having to do with their financing.) It gave Conrad great satisfaction to know that the corporation’s elected officers were all men who had started their climb up the ladder of success at around the same time he had, and who owed a lot of their success to his ingenuity, creativity, and business savvy. There was Red Ellison, for instance, who had once been a bellboy at the hotel in Abilene. He was the kid who had given Conrad $500, his life savings, when Conrad needed it most to keep the company going during the Depression. Now he was vice president in charge of the Western Division. There was also Bob Williford, former key clerk at the hotel in Dallas. Now he was executive vice president of the corporation and vice president in charge of the Central Division. There were many others as well, who had long been allies of Conrad Hilton’s and were now rewarded with prime positions in the corporation. His assistant Olive Wakeman found herself promoted to executive secretary, which opened a position for personal secretary to Conrad Hilton, eventually given to Ruth Hinneman.

  For Nicky, the news that Barron wanted to join the ranks in the hotel business wasn’t the best. Now thriving at his position at the Bel-Air Hotel, for the first time Nicky had his father’s respect on a professional level, and the old rivalry reared its head again. Nicky had even accompanied his father on an important business trip abroad intended to open communication channels between European and American hotels, which had led to the establishment of Hilton Hotels International in May 1946. As Conrad had explained it, the goal of this new company was to “expand internationally and thereby encourage both industry growth and tourism,” with his corporate slogan being “World Peace through International Trade and Travel.” Hilton believed his hotels could not only contribute to the economies of European countries but also provide a permanent reminder of the part America had played in the Allied victory with the establishment of the Marshall Plan and the Truman Doctrine. Along with the formation of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO), these two initiatives’ stated aims were to help rebuild cities and economies after the devastation of World War II. Conrad also saw his efforts as a way to combat Communism, a growing menace to world peace and as insidious as the Nazi assault on Europe only a few years earlier. That he involved Nicky in these important matters meant the world to Nicky, and demonstrated that Conrad was beginning to take his eldest son seriously.

  “Now, the hotel business was Nicky’s thing,” recalled Everett Long. “He was the son in the family business, not Barron. He wanted to know, ‘Why is Barron all of a sudden interested? He wasn’t before, why now?’ ”

  This intense competition between the brothers was not the result of any genuine hostility between them. They had a deep and abiding love for one another. However, they displayed a fierce sibling rivalry that would last for their entire lives.

  One day, out of the blue, Barron walked into Conrad’s office to ask him for a job with the Hilton Corporation. Of course, Conrad was open to the idea. “I can start you out in a position at $150 a week,” he said, according to his memory.

  “You’re joking, right?” Barron said.

  “No,” Conrad responded. “I think that’s fair. I started at five dollars a month, but I think we can do a little better for you,” he concluded with a wink. “Besides, that’s what we started Nicky at, and that’s where we’ll start you at, whichever hotel we place you in.”

  Barron looked at his father as if he were daft. “But Nicky is on his own. I have a family,” he said. “I have a child, my wife is pregnant with another. So we’re talking about supporting three people. Plus, I have to have a cook. Oh, and I have to have a nurse, too. So that’s five people I have to support, Dad!”

  Conrad shook his head in astonishment, no doubt marveling at the temerity of the young man before him who felt entitled to not only his own cook but a live-in nurse as well. However, that’s how he had raised his sons—with a staff of people on hand to do their every bidding. Therefore it was no surprise that they’d gotten used to living that way. Still, it was always a struggle for Conrad to reconcile the way he had been raised—with little—with the way he had raised his sons, and what they expected from life as a result of such a privileged upbringing. “I don’t know what to tell you, Barron,” he said. “We start people at $150 a week in our organization, and that’s not going to change for you.”

  “Well, I can’t work for any man for $150 a week,” Barron said, getting up from his chair. “I need a thousand dollars a month, Dad. That’s $250 a week.”

  “Sorry, son,” Conrad said, holding his ground. “I can’t help you,” he concluded, standing up as well. The two men shook hands. As Barron turned to walk away, Conrad added, “If you think you can make a thousand dollars a month, go right ahead. But if you ever come back down to earth,” he concluded, “come see me and we can always talk again.”

  “Sure,” Barron said, seeming miffed.

  As Barron left, Conrad sat back into his chair and smiled to himself. “Well,” he later remembered thinking, “I guess you can’t blame the kid for trying.”

  But Barron did exactly what he said he was going to do—he ended up making at least a thousand dollars a month, and usually much more, by going into the citrus products business with a friend and their Vita-Pakt Citrus Products Co. (The company is still in business today, though Barron long ago sold his interest in it.) It didn’t take Barron long to go into that business, either. “Conrad was bowled over by Barron’s success,” recalled one Hilton relative. “He just always assumed that both boys would be in the hotel business at some point, and for Barron to make his own way like that, well, Conrad’s admiration for him shot straight up through the ceiling.” Or as Conrad once wrote, “I was pleased to think that if he and his wife had set out to better my own mother’s and father’s record, he had at least inherited some of Gus’s ingenuity and business sense.”

  Not surprisingly, Nicky wasn’t quite sure what to think of Barron’s sudden success. Yes, he’d gotten what he wanted, which was Barron out of the hotel business. However, his brother was now his own man in more ways than one, and also making more money than Nicky. In the process, he’d earned even more respect from Conrad for making his own w
ay and not relying on his father’s largesse. Nicky wanted the best for Barron; he couldn’t help it, he loved him. But still, the competition between the two brothers had just been ratcheted up to a whole new level.

  The Question of Francesca

  It was July 1947. Newlyweds Barron and Marilyn Hilton were in New York staying at the Roosevelt Hotel when the telephone rang in their suite. According to what Barron would later recall under oath, the caller asked for “Mr. Hilton,” and when told that he had Mr. Hilton on the line, he began to talk about an investigation he had been conducting. “As you instructed, sir, I’ve been looking into the matter we discussed,” said the caller.

  Investigation? At first, Barron was confused. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

  “The investigation, sir,” the caller said. “You know, the investigation I am doing into your divorce.”

  “Oh, wait,” Barron said. “Hold on. You must want to talk to my father. Not me. I’m Barron Hilton.”

  “This isn’t Conrad Hilton?”

  “No, this is his son Barron.”

  “Oh,” said the caller. “I’m terribly sorry.” With that, he abruptly hung up.

  After Barron put the receiver down, he sat staring at it for a moment. He was clearly disturbed. Marilyn had been quietly listening to the conversation. Noticing his confused expression, she came over and sat next to her husband on the bed. “What was that about, dear?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Barron said, his brow furrowed. “Apparently, Dad has a detective investigating certain things regarding his divorce from Zsa Zsa.”

  “Really?” Marilyn said, looking perplexed. Perhaps it wasn’t that unusual for a spouse to hire a detective during a divorce, but after one? And why would he keep the investigation a secret? “I wonder what’s going on?” Marilyn asked.

  “I don’t know,” Barron answered. “I cut the guy off. He thought he was talking to Conrad Hilton.”

  Marilyn collected her thoughts and sat quietly next to Barron for a long moment before speaking. “Do you think this has something to do with Francesca?” she asked delicately. It was as if her woman’s intuition had just kicked in at that moment.

  Barron shook his head. “No, it can’t.” Then, after a pause, he added, “I mean… can it?” It could not have been lost on him, nor on Marilyn, that Francesca had been conceived while Conrad and Zsa Zsa Gabor were in the middle of an acrimonious divorce, living apart and most of the time barely acting civil toward each other.

  “I just don’t know,” Marilyn said. “But maybe you should talk to Conrad about it.”

  “Maybe,” Barron said. He didn’t, however, seem eager to do so. The subject of what had gone on behind closed doors during the end of his father’s second marriage was an extremely uncomfortable one. There was no way he could ever imagine discussing sexual timelines and possible affairs with his devoutly Catholic parent.

  Barron never would discuss the call with Conrad, other than to tell him that a private investigator had telephoned and began speaking to him erroneously. Barron would later say, “I assumed at that point that this could be the question, as to whether Francesca’s birth would be a part of that investigation. However, it was just an assumption at that time. My father never did discuss this matter with me.”

  PART FIVE

  Elizabeth

  Beautiful Dreamer

  Just look at this girl, Pop,” Nicky Hilton said. It was the summer of 1949 and Conrad Nicholson Hilton Jr. and his father, Conrad, were sitting in the study of their Bel-Air estate, Conrad holding court behind his large agarwood desk, Nicky sitting on the other side of it in a heavily upholstered leather chair. “I have to meet her,” the twenty-three-year-old heir said as he handed his father a picture he had neatly clipped from a newspaper.

  Conrad took the cutting from his son and examined it. “Yes, she’s a real beauty, all right,” he said, according to his later memory of the conversation. “Elizabeth Taylor, eh?” He handed the clipping back to his son. “Well, I’ll bet you can’t even get close to her,” he said with a good-natured grin, “let alone meet her. I mean, she’s a movie star. Come on, Nicky! How are you going to meet her?”

  Nicky sat back in his chair and, staring at the photo, smiled to himself. “I’ll bet I meet her, Pop,” he said. “I’ll just bet you that I do.”

  Conrad laughed. “Okay,” he said, chuckling, “it’s a bet, then.” When Nicky left the study, Conrad sank back into his chair and smiled. “My Nicky, the beautiful dreamer,” he said to himself.

  As the months turned into years, an interesting dynamic had begun to develop between Conrad and Nicky. As much as he admired Barron’s determination, and as flattered as he was that those traits mirrored characteristics of his own, there was something different and special about Nicky that appealed to him too.

  Nicky was carefree and fun-loving, a real ladies’ man. By the time he was twenty-one, he was living the kind of life Conrad had always wanted for himself but never had the nerve—or the personality—to make his own. After all, Conrad had worked from the time he was a young man. Now, at sixty-two, when he looked back on his life, he was of course proud of his business achievements, but he did have certain regrets. He realized that with all he’d accomplished he’d never had one of the most cherished things life had to offer: fun. His greatest source of entertainment had always been trafficking in big business, making deals, courting some grand hotel, and finally acquiring her and making her his own. However, in retrospect he felt a great sadness, a feeling of having missed out. For instance, he hadn’t had a lot of women. He simply didn’t have the time nor the inclination for romance other than the fleeting kind. When he did feel passion, it usually wasn’t of the sexual nature. He had been married to one of the most sensationally beautiful women in the world in Zsa Zsa Gabor, yet when she wanted to make love he usually balked. Part of this could be ascribed to his religious convictions, of course. However, deep down, as he would later confide, he had to wonder if that was just an excuse, if he had simply lost interest in his wife after finally “acquiring” her. Why, he sometimes wondered, couldn’t he be more like Nicky? Would Nicky have ever turned away someone like Zsa Zsa? Not likely.

  As surprising as it would have been to Nicky had he known it, Conrad couldn’t help but be just a little envious of him. “Nick was like a cat in heat,” said a Hilton family friend. “Every gal he took out he screwed, and all were great beauties.” Nicky was out on the town every night, getting into mischief with the opposite sex and spending his money wildly with no sense of responsibility. While it was sometimes maddening for Conrad to bear witness to Nick’s lifestyle, he couldn’t help but feel that Nicky lived fearlessly, and he had to admire him for it.

  “If only I had just a little of whatever it is Nicky has that makes his life such a good time for him,” Conrad told his attorney Myron Harpole, “I think maybe I would have been happier.” When Myron commented that Conrad didn’t seem to be particularly unhappy, he shrugged his shoulders and said, “Well, it’s too late now to worry about it. But I have to confess, I do wish I’d had more fun. If you don’t mind me saying so, maybe even some more romance. Does that make me sound like an old fool?” he asked. Myron smiled at him. “Yes, it does,” he told Conrad. “An old fool, just like the rest of us.”

  Though Conrad Hilton couldn’t turn back the hands of time, he could at least live vicariously through his namesake. How he loved hearing Nicky’s wild tales! His stories were the source of hours of laughter and bonding between himself and his firstborn. Olive Wakeman would tell Myron Harpole, “You can always tell which of his sons is in his study with him behind closed doors. If the tone of the conversation is subdued and serious-sounding, it’s between Conrad and Barron. But if raucous laughter and good-natured ribbing is heard, for certain the banter is between Conrad and Nicky.”

  Even though Conrad had bet Nicky he wouldn’t be able to get near Elizabeth Taylor, let alone meet her, he would have to admit that, in his heart o
f hearts, he figured Nicky would win that bet. He rather hoped he would.

  Enter: Elizabeth Taylor

  It didn’t take Nicky Hilton long to prove his father wrong. Once he set his mind to doing something, he usually did it. As it happened, Nicky knew a friend who knew another person well connected in the movie business, and before he knew it, he was invited to actress Jane Powell’s wedding party at the Mocambo nightclub on Sunset Boulevard (the same nightspot at which his dad had given Zsa Zsa Gabor her engagement ring). And there he found himself sitting shoulder to shoulder with the one and only Elizabeth Taylor. It was September 17, 1949, an evening Nicky would never forget.

  Many years later Vanity Fair would call Elizabeth Rosemond Taylor “a real-life Helen of Troy.” At just seventeen, she was ripe and ready to launch the first of her many thousand ships. She was already an accomplished actress, having appeared in more than a dozen major films, mostly for MGM, such as Cynthia, A Date with Judy, Julia Misbehaves, and The Big Hangover. By 1949, pretty much everyone in America knew the name Elizabeth Taylor, and it wasn’t just her acting career that singled her out for acclamation, it was her rare, almost unparalleled beauty. Although she certainly wasn’t statuesque, standing only a little above five feet tall in her stocking feet (her height would be exaggerated throughout her career), she had a regal bearing and a well-shaped body with full breasts and a tiny waist that she enjoyed showing off with plunging necklines and tight belts. She also had an inherent sexuality that even as a teenager she exuded effortlessly. Her beautiful face, while certainly one of the most photogenic in the history of motion pictures, was even more stunning in person, and made her truly ravishing. Women around the world would turn themselves into cut-rate Elizabeth Taylors in a futile attempt to duplicate her special allure: the jet black hair, flawless skin, pouty red lips, and perfectly sculpted eyebrows. But it was her bewitching, violet-blue eyes, so darkly lashed and blazing with a startling range of emotions, that really set her apart from mere mortals. It is now legend that when the still teenage Elizabeth would walk into the MGM commissary, everyone, even the most jaded stars, would stop eating, turn to look at her, and gasp. Then a hush would fall over the room as she made her way to a table, all eyes following her. That was the reaction Elizabeth Taylor elicited whenever she entered any room. It certainly was the reaction she elicited from Nicky Hilton the night he finally met her.