Rock Hudson: The Gentle Giant

by David Bret

  Reagan is yet to actually say the word AIDS in public. He and his people are so afraid of the Far Right. Fuck them all!

  248

  Despite the efforts of Rock’s friends to evict him, and Rock’s refusal to have anything to do with him, Marc Christian stayed on at the Castle, keeping out of everyone’s way…the former lover who had become the enemy, castigated by this jealous, bickering bevy of over-protective nursemaids—Miller, Nader, Clark and the household staff—each of whom believed he held the divine right to help Rock through his last days and make what remained of his life as peaceful as possible.

  On 4 September, Rock was visited by a Los Angeles writer named Sara Davidson, engaged by William Morrow Publishing (and vetted by Mark Miller and Rock’s lawyers), to ghost-write the autobiography he had been planning for years but never got around to starting. Everyone involved with the project was aware that he might not have enough time left to finish it, and with this in mind he had instructed Miller to complete the commission, if need be, telling him, “You know the whole story. You’ll have to do it for me.”

  Davidson was told by Rock at the outset, “So much bullshit has been written about me. It’s time to set things straight.”

  He also stipulated that his share of profits from the book should be donated to his recently set up Rock Hudson AIDS Research Foundation.

  The announcement of Rock’s “kiss and tell” sent shock waves throughout the entire Hollywood community, as Tom Clark explained to Joan Mac Trevor:

  Rock had met countless people during his career, and there were some of these with whom he’d had “special” connections. Hollywood is very nervous today. These people are married with grandchildren. They’re terrified of his revelations destroying their peace of mind. Rock and his editors have had lots of fun, since he opted to do

  249

  this book. They wanted to call it Hollywood Dictionary because it names everyone, from A to Z, who influenced his life. And some of these people have doubtless forgotten that they didn’t always treat him kindly.

  Mac Trevor also disclosed how the wife of “a very famous actor” had turned up at the Castle and offered a large donation to Rock’s charity providing he remove any references to him from the book. Troy Donahue also attempted to buy Rock’s silence. Mac Trevor, however, was convinced that Rock never had been and never would be a malicious man:

  I’ve known him virtually since the day he arrived in Hollywood. Rock has always been honest and upstanding. He is not writing this book to settle any scores. He’s too nice to be leaving this world in a vengeful manner, though I do have to say that no one’s going to have much to gain by appearing in his memoirs.

  Initially Rock was alert in his recollections, but as his condition worsened over the next few weeks, he tired quickly. According to Mark Miller, such fatigue caused his mind to wander. Sara Davidson too recalled how daunting a place the Castle was:

  It was one of the most bizarre scenes I’d ever witnessed: the old lover and the new lover brushing elbows in the hall, the old lover reclaiming his place while the new one refused to give ground. Friends gathering in the living room, laughing and telling stories while the movie star lay dying of a terrible disease—the plague of our time. The eighty-year-old gardener eating ice-cream in the kitchen. The butler in his towel. What was I getting into?

  250

  Rock Hudson: His Story cannot in any circumstances be regarded as Rock’s autobiography. Most of his comments, anecdotes, observations and opinions come from other sources, most especially Mark Miller and George Nader. Because of this—the fact that these were his most trusted confidents who for thirty years had done their utmost to conceal his and their own sexuality, some of Rock’s other friends felt that he had been deceived, if not downright insulted. Most importantly they would believe that, had Rock been in a sounder state of mind, he would never have entertained the idea of anyone letting the world in on the most intimate secrets of his love life.

  Such was Rock’s confusion during these last weeks that he is quoted (by Tom Clark) as having once pointed to Sara Davidson and asked Marc Christian, “Who is she? Is she one of the nurses?” This could of course have been Rock, even while so desperately ill, exercising his dry sense of humour. Given the fact that most of those who confided in the author did so without any axe to grind, and with utmost respect for the subject—the book positively bustles with a lively, frequently bitchy gay banter and ultimately represents an honest, rounded and at times intensely upsetting portrait of the man behind the mask. Davidson sums up this, for her, orthodox approach by writing in her introduction:

  Mark and George were cautious, censoring what they said, but at the end they held little back. We became collaborators, trying to crack a puzzle they had been grappling with for three decades.

  On 19 September, Elizabeth Taylor and Shirley MacLaine, who had already raised a great deal of money for AIDS charities, organised a benefit dinner for Rock in Los Angeles. The pair had

  251

  confidently announced, prior to sending out the invitations, that they would achieve their $250,000 target—to match the amount that Rock had donated to his foundation—but such was the response that the event raised five times this amount, though some of Elizabeth’s and Rock’s gay actor friends who gave generously insisted upon anonymity and did not show up on the evening. Armistead Maupin’s earlier announcement had served as a veiled warning, forcing them to keep a suitable distance for fear of being exposed by the press. The guests included Gregory Peck, Burt Reynolds, Linda Evans and Ricardo Montalban. Burt Lancaster presided over the dinner and read out the speech that Rock had written, hoping that he might be well enough to attend and deliver it himself:

  People have told me that the disclosure that I have AIDS has helped make this evening an immediate sellout, and it will raise $1 million in the battle against AIDS. I have also been told that media coverage of my own situation has brought enormous international attention to the gravity of the disease. If this is helping others, then I can at least know my own misfortune has some positive worth.

  Only once during this anguished period could Rock’s closest friends be accused of failing in their duties to protect him from the indignations of the outside world. This was when they allowed him to be taken advantage of by a group of religious fanatics. Tom Clark recounted the story of how on 21 September he was alone with Rock—by now bedridden and attached to an intravenous drip—when a woman who gave her name as Eleanor came knocking on the door and announced that she had brought Rock a message from God. How she managed to get through the

  252

  security gates is not known. Clark tried to get rid of her, but when she became persistent, he foolishly welcomed her into the house and took her upstairs to see Rock. Standing at the foot of his bed, she told him, “God has asked me to tell you you’re not going to leave us just yet. The cancer will leave your body and you’re going to be just fine.”

  This charade persisted for more than a week with Clark, his judgement clouded by grief, allowing Rock’s room to be transformed into an extended deathbed scenario worthy of a Pirandello drama. Religious medals and imagery claimed by Eleanor to have been sent in by fans were hung from the walls and bedposts, and despite being a lapsed Catholic, Rock received visits from clean-cut singer and born-again Christian Pat Boone, accompanied by his wife Shirley and their three daughters. One of these, pop star Debbie, had outraged gay groups in February 1979 by giving an interview to Playgirl—almost as popular with gay readers as female ones in that it was at the time the only one readily available on newsstands that featured photographs of naked men sporting erections. This particular issue had reached a wider gay audience than usual by boasting naked photographs of the most celebrated gay disco group in the world, the Village People, and Debbie Boone’s interview—subtitled “America’s Number One Virgin Reveals Her Sexual Fears”—did her no favours when she told journalist Elliot Mintz:

  I could more easily sit and have a disc
ussion with a homosexual than a killer, because someone who has the potential to kill is more frightening to me. But I feel that God does not necessarily regard a killer any different than a homosexual…He’s looking at a killer or a homosexual and saying, “You’re out, you’re never gonna make it.”

  253

  That being gay could be regarded as sinful as murder in some people’s eyes—and in view of the vituperative comments being aimed at AIDS victims by moralists and religious zealots—was for Rock and every single one of those who cared about him, the supreme insult.

  Another guest, not welcomed by Rock’s entourage, was Susan Stafford, the former hostess of the television quiz, Wheel of Fortune, now an intern minister. It was she who organised for a Catholic priest, Father Tom Sweeney, to visit Rock. Sweeney was also a television personality and an adviser on the mini-series, The Thornbirds, whose leading character, a priest, was ironically played by the then closeted gay actor, Richard Chamberlain. He, Stafford and the Boones knelt around Rock’s bed, praying and chanting in tongues.

  What transpired next, reported by the tabloids and collated by John Parker in The Trial of Rock Hudson, makes for grim reading. On the evening of Tuesday 1 October, the Boones turned up at the Castle for a laying-on-of-hands ceremony. Pat Boone placed the Bible on Rock’s chest—he was now down to 98 pounds and could hardly breathe—whilst his wife and their fellow converts chanted some more. Boone gave instructions to Tom Clark to place Rock’s everyday clothes next to him on the bed, vowing that a miracle would occur during the night—that when completely cured, Rock would get up and put these on. When Clark discovered him the next morning—fully dressed and in apparent agony—he hit the roof and, not before time, ordered the Boones out of the house.

  Many people, myself included, condemned this final episode as ill-timed and extremely sick. Though it probably did not hasten Rock’s end, it certainly did little to make his last moments comfortable. By 8.45 am, less than an hour after his nurse had changed him back into his pyjamas, Rock was gone.

  254

  Rock’s swansong, as Daniel Reece in Dynasty.

  255

  Epilogue

  “He’s gone. But the most important thing is that he was here—that he was a wonderful guy while he was here.” Michael Nader, actor and Dynasty co-star.

  Rock’s death was announced at 9.11 am, less than thirty minutes after he died. Within ten minutes every television crew and reporter and press-photographer in Hollywood had flocked to the gates of the Castle, where even the most hackish amongst them was taken aback by the subsequent speed of events. A few managed to get into the grounds, only to be ejected by the crack team of security men hired by Elizabeth Taylor. Whilst making her public statement, Elizabeth was inconsolable, and for months would refuse to refer to Rock in the past tense. She told the press on the day he died, “I love him, and he is tragically gone. Please God he has not died in vain.” Doris Day announced from her Carmel home:

  This is when our faith is finally tested. All of those years I worked with him I saw him as big, handsome and indestructible. I’m saddened by this and all I can do is uplift myself. Life is eternal. I hope we’ll meet again.

  The official statement from the White House was delivered by an adviser who had talked the Reagans out of visiting the Castle:

  Nancy and I are saddened by the news of Rock Hudson’s death. He will always be remembered for his dynamic impact on the film industry and fans all over the world will certainly mourn his loss. He will be remembered for his humanity, his sympathetic spirit and well-deserved reputation for kindness. May God rest his soul.

  256

  The press were asked not to pester the Dynasty cast, which had the opposite effect. Their comments are unworthy of mention. American TV Guide’s Eric Eston was an exception, and refrained from publishing his piece until six months after Rock died. Some of his former co-stars were reticent to pay him homage: it was as if the nature of his illness had made them feel ashamed of knowing and speaking about him. Eston observed that they:

  …spoke only in the presence of the show’s publicist who, in the case of Linda Evans, cut the interview short when she sensed that the star was growing understandably uncomfortable when reference was made to the infamous kiss.

  Only days before, the kiss had been mocked in a television sketch by acid-tongued comedienne Joan Rivers, and because of the fuss the Screen Actors’ Guild introduced a temporary measure forbidding open-mouthed kissing on the screen. Jack Coleman, who played gay Steven Carrington—in a hasty rewriting of the Dynasty script, about to be “turned” rampantly heterosexual, whilst plans had been made for his on-screen lover to be killed off in a European wedding fiasco—was conspicuous by his absence, as was the homophobic actor who had asked for Rock to be fired from the production. The ones who mattered were unafraid of speaking out in his favour. John Forsythe remembered Rock’s “playful good humour and gentle spirit”. He added, referring to the show’s prima donnas of both sexes:

  Some actors crave love, and as a result they get nothing in return. Other actors don’t push it. He was one that didn’t push it, and everybody warmed to him.

  257

  Michael Nader agreed with this:

  Rock was just a real down-home kind of guy. He used to come in comfortably dressed—not that showy type of rag-magazine glamour. We’ve had other people on the show who’ve not been so comfortable. And he did work with us. It was a real nice season for this show to go through. As far as the disease is concerned, there’s no need for discussion. The country has it, the world has it. But in terms of him it was hard watching, knowing that this guy was gone—just as he was reaching a maturity level where he could really get the recognition he deserved as an actor.

  And Rock’s favourite, Heather Locklear, tearfully recalled:

  I had just two scenes with him, and he was such a gentleman. He was very quiet, kind of shy. In one scene he had to throw me down and he said, “Now, you just tell me if it’s too rough.” Everything was for me! I was thinking, “What do you mean? Throw me across the room. I don’t care!” He was just a very, very nice man. It was such an honour to work with him.

  The media reaction towards Rock’s death could not have been more inhuman. The Globe declared that he had not been gay upon his arrival in Hollywood, but that Henry Willson had made him this way. A further homophobic implication, harking back to the earlier comment in the Sunday Express by John Junor, was that as homosexuals were traditionally supposed to be woman-haters, Rock had deliberately kissed Linda Evans on the mouth during the Dynasty episode, knowing that he had AIDS.

  258

  The British tabloids were even more puerile. The Star called Rock’s life “but a sordid sham”, and quoted Phyllis Gates saying of their marriage, “He would go for days sullen, not speaking, and my life was very miserable. He hit me when I asked why he wouldn’t talk to me.” The Sun, under the headline, “The Hunk Who Lived A Lie”, repeated Elizabeth Taylor’s confession of how whilst shooting Giant she had failed to woo Rock because he had been head-over-heels in love with James Dean. The piece went one step further with an “exclusive admission” that, though he had wanted to, Rock had been incapable of making love to any of his female co-stars—on account of the “infliction” known as homosexuality. And always, always the Carmel photograph.

  The Hollywood Reporter’s Arthur Knight, one of the few with anything sympathetic to say about him, urged his readers to make donations to the American Foundation for AIDS Research instead of sending flowers to Rock’s funeral, and ended his obituary, “It’s the sincerest possible tribute to a brave and gracious man.” The most prosaic, heartfelt statement came from Rock’s friend, Joan Mac Trevor, who had visited the Castle the day after his death. She drew attention to the fact that, whilst his fans and friends could support one another during their grief, no one had given much thought to Rock’s similarly bereft pets:

  The star’s blue Mercedes is still in the garage, and a cat scrambles up on
to the roof, looking for the master who left so suddenly on his final journey. No one can explain to Rock’s favourite animal that his buddy will never come home to stroke him like he used to do, hours on end next to the palm-shadowed pool, surveyed by the statues which adorn his terrace. But the cat understands all, through instinct and affection—driving away from the house I catch sight of him, in the setting sun, looking

  259

  lost, orphaned of the tenderness which came from a great man of the cinema.

  Among the first to arrive at the Castle were Shirley Boone and the woman who had introduced herself to Tom Clark as Eleanor. Boone sank to her knees beside the bed, while the other chanted in tongues and prostrated herself on the floor. At 10.45 am a pair of undertakers’ assistants wearing masks and gloves collected Rock’s body—not in a hearse, but in a van with clear glass windows—an “arrangement” that had hastily been made between the funeral parlour and a photographer expecting to snatch an exclusive shot of the corpse. Rock’s friends prevented this from happening by taping towels over the windows, though this did not stop the farce that followed. The vehicle was purposely too small so that Rock’s feet stuck out of the back doors—he made his final exit from his home with Tom Clark straddled across his body, desperately trying to hold the doors shut whilst the sea of jostling press tried to jerk them open. Then, instead of driving to a chapel of rest, the van headed straight for the crematorium, where Rock’s body was placed in a large cardboard box bearing his name, and unceremoniously and shamelessly rolled into the oven. The ever-loving Clark later told Sara Davidson: