“Of course he would,” Trish said. “He loves you so much, Nicky.” Moreover, she said that Elizabeth and Marilyn would have needed some assistance with something as complex as an annulment. “They would need Barron,” she said.
It had been Nicky’s nurse, a man named Elliot Mitchell, who had most recently tried to convince Nicky to do whatever he could to make amends with, at the very least, Barron, if not also Conrad. Then, in an effort to smooth things out, the nurse took a meeting with Barron at the Hilton Hotels corporate office in Los Angeles. He told Barron that he believed Nicky didn’t have long to live. Barron then contacted Nicky by telephone, and the two had an emotional, heart-to-heart conversation. Later that day, when Elliot Mitchell returned to Nicky’s side, he found him crying in bed.
Now, just a short time later, it seemed that Barron had helped his wife, Marilyn, do something for Nicky that was, in Nicky’s view, quite monumental. Nicky was so incredulous, he couldn’t stop shaking his head in disbelief. “Marilyn did tell me something about a big contribution to the Catholic Church,” he said, trying to put the pieces together in his head. He and Trish looked at each other in amazement and then, laughing, said in unison, “Barron!”
Though Trish was happy about the news, she didn’t quite understand how an annulment held any relevance for them. After all, they’d been married for ten years. Nicky explained, though, that an annulment would mean the two of them could finally marry in the church. “This is huge for us, Trish,” he said, beaming. “It’s a new start for us.”
Though Trish wasn’t convinced that it was as easy as Nicky seemed to believe, it was difficult for her to resist getting caught up in the moment. As her husband went on about their exciting future together, he began to remind her of someone she once knew. Who was it, though? She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Just whom did he call to mind? It was driving her mad. Then it hit her, and when it did it was such a surprise, she felt the hackles rise on the back of her neck and goose bumps on her arms. He reminded her of… Nicky Hilton—the Nicky Hilton of days gone by, the one she hadn’t seen in years, the one with whom she had fallen in love. It was as if news of the annulment had brought him back to himself and he was suddenly the man he’d once been—full of life and excited about the future. “Maybe we can have that happy ending we deserve,” Nicky told his wife, holding her hands and gazing lovingly into her eyes.
“Do you think?” Trish asked hopefully. “Do you really think so?”
He nodded. “I do,” he said with a loving smile. “Just wait and see.”
It wasn’t meant to be, though. Within just a month, Nicky Hilton would be gone from Trish forever.
The Death of Nicky Hilton
The funeral took place at St. Paul’s Church in Los Angeles on Saturday, February 8, 1969. Time, in its obituary, called Conrad Hilton Jr.—Nicky—“a director of his father’s 41-national hotel chain and inveterate playboy.” Of course, much was made of his infamous marriage to Elizabeth Taylor. There was also a passing reference to the fact that “he later remarried, only once,” but there was no mention at all of Trish McClintock Hilton’s name. Maybe it wasn’t surprising. After all, throughout their ten difficult years of marriage, Trish had always felt alone and unrecognized in her battle to save Nicky Hilton from himself. He was just forty-two when the battle was lost.
The night before the service, a rosary was said for Nicky at St. Paul’s. Trish had requested that the casket be open because she had heard a rumor that Nicky had shot himself in the head. It wasn’t true, and she wanted there to be no doubt about it. As mourners milled about in the small chamber in which the rosary was to be said over the casket, Barron and Eric walked with Conrad—one on each side, holding him gently by his elbows—up to Nicky’s dead body.
Finally, Nicky looked at peace, young and rested. In repose, his face had a sweet innocence to it. He was handsome in a black suit with a white silk tie. As the three Hiltons stood next to the brass casket, Conrad bent over and kissed his son lightly on the forehead. He then lingered over the body for a few moments, his body heaving up and down, overcome with emotion.
“Come on, Dad,” Barron was overheard telling him. “Nicky’s okay now. Let’s go sit down.” Conrad shook his head no. He said he wanted to stay next to the casket as others came up to pay their final respects. Always the great host, he said that Nicky would want him to be there to greet the mourners. It was perhaps the last thing he felt he could do for his son. With his death, he wanted to stand near him, be his voice. However, his remaining sons didn’t think it was a good idea. He simply wasn’t strong enough. They gently led their shaky father away. “It’s okay, Dad,” Eric said. “Let’s just sit down. It’s okay.”
After everyone left the church, Trish knew she would be seeing Nicky for the last time. She couldn’t bear to say her goodbyes alone and called upon her friend Carole Wells Doheny to stand nearby for moral support. Filled with complex emotions, Trish spent an hour with Nicky’s body. As she stared down at him, events from his turbulent life played out in her mind. She couldn’t get over the fact that Elizabeth Taylor had called both Eric and Barron to extend her condolences. After all she had been through with Nicky, there was still something that bonded Elizabeth to him all these many years after their troubled marriage. Obviously, Trish could relate. Nicky looked so restful and natural lying in the casket, Trish couldn’t believe he was gone. “Oh my God, Carole,” she gasped, turning to her friend. “He’s really dead. It’s true. It’s true!”
The next morning, sitting in the front pew of St. Paul’s with Trish for the requiem mass were Nicky’s young sons, nine-year-old Conrad III—also called Nicky—and seven-year-old Michael. Also seated in the front row were his grieving friends Stewart Armstrong, Bob Neal, John Carroll, and Robert Wentworth. In the second row were Nicky’s father, Conrad, his brothers, Barron and Eric, and their wives, Marilyn and Pat.
After the service, Conrad wandered around the church, seeming alone and lost. While everyone was making plans to go to Holy Cross Cemetery, where Nicky would be laid to rest in the family plot near his beloved mother, Mary, the millionaire tycoon had somehow wandered off. Ironically, there seemed to be no plan in mind for a man so well-known for orchestrating the most complex hotel openings around the world. “Do you think there’s a car for me?” Conrad finally asked a police officer.
“Should there be, sir?” the office asked him.
“I would think so,” Conrad said hoarsely. “You see, I’m the father of the deceased.”
Witnessing the scene as it unfolded, Nicky’s old friend Robert Wentworth walked over to Conrad to help. “This gentleman is Mr. Conrad Hilton,” he told the police officer, “owner of the Hilton Hotels Corporation and father of Nicky.” The officer raised his eyebrows, nodded, and then went to find out which car would be carrying Conrad to the cemetery. While he was gone, Robert Wentworth took Conrad by the elbow and moved him to a nearby chair, where he had him sit.
“He was in a bit of a daze,” Robert recalled of Conrad. “He asked me if I had any children. I told him I had two sons, age ten and twelve. He looked at me with a weary expression and said, ‘Enjoy their youth. Those are the most precious years. I have to say, I enjoyed Nicky’s youth,’ he continued. ‘I so loved watching him grow up.’ At that point, the officer reappeared to say that Conrad would be riding in a car with Barron and Marilyn. His instructions were to take him to them. Conrad stood up, turned to me, and extended his hand to shake mine. He thanked me for being a good friend to his son for so many years. ‘You know, I was always a little jealous of you fellows,’ he told me. ‘You had so much fun, didn’t you?’ he said. My heart went out to him as the officer led him away and helped him into a black Caddy.”
It had been a massive heart attack that finally claimed Nicky Hilton’s life on the morning of Wednesday, February 5. Weeks later, Barron and his sister-in-law Pat would dine together in Los Angeles and have a serious conversation about Nicky’s passing. Pat knew she had great latit
ude with Barron; she could be candid with him. “You know, the thing that hurt him so much was that he felt you took his company away from him,” she told Barron. “You took the international division away from him,” she said. “Why did you do that, Barron?”
“But I had nothing to do with that, Pat,” Barron said in his defense. He elaborated that it had been a board decision, not one he had made unilaterally. He insisted that Nicky understood as much.
“Are you sure?” Pat said.
Barron lowered his head. He was clearly distraught. Finally, he managed to say that if his brother did have a problem with him, he had “forgiven him,” adding, “We put all of that aside before he died.” He said that he and Nicky had reached an accord. “I loved my brother very, very much, Pat,” he concluded.
As Pat looked at her brother-in-law, she recognized that he was as overwhelmed by everything that had happened in recent years as anyone else in the family, and maybe even more so. Resting her hand atop his, she told him that she believed him and was sorry for his loss. “I’m just so happy we could talk about this,” she said. “It’s been killing me,” she concluded.
“Me too,” he said sadly.
During the weeks following Nicky’s death, Trish Hilton kept replaying the moment she heard of his passing as she tried to make sense of his death. It was 9:30 in the morning when she got the call about Nicky from his accountant, Richard Cohen. Her mother and stepfather were visiting and it was all they could do to keep her from running into the street in hysterics, overcome with grief. She believed then, as she does today, that it wasn’t really a heart attack that caused her husband’s death. She believes that Nicky accidentally overdosed, and then perhaps suffered a heart attack as a result. Considering all he had been through with alcohol and drugs, her gut told her that they were the real culprits behind his death.
As she had done every night, Trish had visited Nicky the evening before his death. He seemed better than he’d been in recent months, the news of the annulment from Elizabeth Taylor still fresh and still seeming to motivate him toward real change in his life. “I’m sorry,” Nicky told Trish. “I’ve made a real mess of everything, haven’t I?” He seemed so bewildered, she didn’t know quite how to respond. “I am someone you never have to apologize to,” she told him. She tried to assure him that he was going to get better. “You’re a Hilton,” she continued, trying to be strong. “And while we Hiltons do sometimes make mistakes,” she continued, “we never give up.”
He chuckled. “So I’ve been told,” he said. Nicky then bowed his head as if he was so ashamed of the way things had turned out, he couldn’t even bear to look at his wife. In response, Trish lowered her own head and then leaned in so that her forehead touched his. They sat in that position for a few moments, not saying a word to each other. It was as if there were nothing left to say. Silence was a relief. Finally, Trish sat back and studied her beleaguered husband of the last decade, the father of her two boys. Though he was just a shadow of the handsome man she had long ago met at a racetrack, there was still something about him—a twinkle in his eye, or maybe it was the way he smiled—that continued to remind her of the man she had fallen for so very long ago. He had never lost his little-boy quality. “So… okay,” she said, coming out of her daydream. “See you tomorrow, then?” Trish asked.
“Yeah,” he answered, seeming tired.
“I love you, Nicky,” she reminded him.
“I love you too,” he said, forcing a smile.
“See you tomorrow,” she said again.
“Yes. For sure. See you tomorrow, Trish.”
The Wake at Casa Encantada
About a hundred people showed up for Nicky’s wake at Conrad Hilton’s home, Casa Encantada. Eric Hilton and his wife, Pat, stood nearby as Barron spoke to some of those present. Trish Hilton had chosen not to attend the gathering, deciding instead to go back to her own home and spend the time alone with her two children. “We Hiltons believe that God has a plan for all of us,” Barron Hilton said. “It’s not our place to question God. All we can do is abide by his will, as difficult as that may be.” As Barron spoke, his father sat in a corner, staring vacantly into space while chatting with his longtime family friends Carole and Larry Doheny. Marilyn, Barron’s wife of twenty-two years, watched him with great concern. “He’s just trying to stay in control,” she said to Pat Hilton. “He’s a man. And worse yet, a Hilton man. And Hilton men have to believe they have everything under control. But this is so hard on him…”
Pat nodded her head in agreement. As Eric’s wife, she knew that Marilyn was certainly accurate in her assessment of Hilton men. “That splendid Hilton pride,” she observed with a bit of a smile.
Barron really was not that hard to understand. Quite simply, he believed in the Hilton brand with all of his heart and would do anything in his power to protect it. In his mind, the reputation of the company was always of paramount concern. Barron was a company man. Some would say he was cold, distant, not sentimental. Others would say that he was pragmatic and single-minded, pretty much like his father. “How can we best honor what Conrad Hilton has put into place?” was the question that he would ask his children on a regular basis. In fact, he was grooming his son Steven from almost the beginning to take a leadership position in the company. (Steven M. Hilton is today chairman, president, and CEO of the Conrad N. Hilton Foundation.)
By the end of the 1960s, no one could argue with Barron’s track record. As president and chief executive of the Hilton Corporation, Barron saw the company’s profits double in a three-year period, from $6.6 million in 1966 when Barron was promoted, to $12.2 million in 1969. In that same period, revenues rose 18 percent to $231 million. By 1969, the chain owned, managed, or franchised sixty-seven hotels and inns in fifty-six U.S. cities, with an occupancy rate 10 percent above the industry-wide average of 61 percent. This increase was despite the fact that the average room rate at a Hilton hotel had increased 21 percent, from about $17 a night to about $21. On the New York Stock Exchange, Hilton shares reflected the company’s fortunes by leaping from 7⅛ in 1966 to 57½ in 1969—a gain of 80.7 percent. While it was true that the company had lost a fortune by divesting itself of its international division, a decision that both Barron and his father would lament, Barron was never one to live in regret. Instead, he outlined plans that included $50 million worth of expansion at U.S. airports and in Hawaii, where Hilton hotels ran an 80 percent occupancy rate.
Barron, like Conrad, was a man who paid great attention to the day-to-day operations of his hotels. He had reduced the size of the company’s payroll, upsetting many employees but enhancing the corporation’s bottom line. To save on food preparation costs, he decided to no longer use fresh eggs for salads and sandwiches. Instead, he now bought frozen hard-boiled eggs in footlong rolls. Once thawed, they were ready to slice and serve. Also, by centralizing the purchase of housekeeping items under a subsidiary, Hotel Equipment Corp., Barron saved the parent company money on everything from carpets to cutlery. “Everything is about the bottom line,” he said in 1969. “That’s where I keep my eye, all the time.”
Marilyn and Barron certainly enjoyed an affluent lifestyle, thanks to his position at the company and his salary of about $100,000 a year. That wasn’t much; today it would be worth roughly a half million a year. However, it was in his share of booming Hilton stocks where Barron had enjoyed his biggest financial gains. He and Marilyn and their eight children lived in a palatial estate in Holmby Hills with a swimming pool, tennis court, putting green, sauna bath, and film projection room. They also owned a half dozen automobiles, including a black Rolls-Royce convertible, as well as their own private jet and helicopter. Often Barron would fly about the country visiting as many as a half dozen hotels in a single day. In 1969, he was mulling over the idea of buying his own airline that would operate charter flights from major U.S. and European cities to his resort hotels.
“I don’t think I have ever seen a marriage quite like theirs,” Trish Hilton would
say of Marilyn and Barron, who would be married for fifty-six years. “I never heard of them having a fight. I once asked Marilyn what the secret of her long marriage was, and she said, ‘I accept him for who he is, and he does the same for me.’ What more does any spouse need other than such total and absolute acceptance?”
“I’m the luckiest man in the world,” Barron told a small group of friends and relatives at Nicky’s wake. “Somehow, God has blessed me with a wife who puts up with me, understands me, and supports me unequivocally,” he said as he continued to hold court, with everyone listening intently. His kind words about his supportive spouse made some feel uncomfortable about the fact that Trish was not present for her husband’s wake at Casa Encantada. Did she blame the Hiltons for what had happened to Nicky? It certainly seemed that way. “I shudder to think what might have happened to Nicky if Trish hadn’t come along,” Barron said, maybe picking up on the awkward moment. He said that Trish had been, as he put it, “a godsend,” especially during recent times.
As everyone spoke, Zsa Zsa Gabor fanned herself and looked unwell. She was grief-stricken by Nicky’s death. He meant a lot to her. At one point, she was so inconsolable that Francesca, now twenty, was seen talking softly to her, holding her close. As all of this was going on, Conrad just sat in a corner and listened, occasionally nodding but looking sad. Though Barron and Eric Hilton would both continue to work for the Hilton Corporation, their primary concern for the next decade would be the welfare of their aging father. Both had noticed that Conrad was now quieter, more reflective than he’d been in the recent past. Eric would share with Pat his concern that Nicky’s death had somehow extinguished the fire that had always been in Conrad’s belly.
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