The Ear of the Heart: An Actress' Journey From Hollywood to Holy Vows (36 page)

I had been certain that once I entered the gates of Regina Laudis, God would be waiting for me—to reveal Himself completely. But I never imagined how, and now I felt as if I were in a movie playing a patient with bandages on her eyes, desperate to have them removed so that she can see again. As an actress I would have a place to go with that, but I wasn’t playing a part in the monastery
.

“
What have I done? I have to leave.” That thought dogged me to tears every night. It would disturb my peace of mind and heart for a long time
.

Twenty-One

“Star Driven into Nunnery by Her Love for Elvis” was the headline on the
National Enquirer
story. Most of the media played it in more realistic terms, using as a centerpiece Dolores’ own statement in the press release: “I am not leaving anyone or anything behind me. I am taking with me a full and grateful heart.”

Frank Liberman’s phone rang off the hook with calls from every reporter in town but one: Hedda Hopper. Frank told me Hedda had sent him a note instead. It was simple and to the point, with only two words. I didn’t need to ask him what they were.

The impact of the story was one of shock. Many of Dolores’ friends and colleagues would soon receive the letters written during her final retreat but they, too, felt the initial jolt. Telephone calls streamed into the monastery. Phone calls to a postulant, especially in the first days after entrance, were extremely rare but, given the surprise nature of her entrance and the media attention it received, it was clear that there were some people on the outside Dolores should speak to personally; she could return those calls that she felt required an immediate response. It was not permitted for a nun to take one step outside the enclosure, but Dolores was allowed to make these calls at Saint Gregory’s guesthouse because there was only one telephone inside the monastery and she simply couldn’t tie up that line.

Paul Nathan was one of the first people to whom she spoke. Paul hadn’t been surprised at all. Years later, he told me he had seen it coming. “Deep down,” he said, “I felt that her heart had never really been in Hollywood. I’m not a religious person, so I was envious of her. I think that most people, if they’re honest, envied her ability to do what she knew was right.”

In London overseeing his production of
Becket
, Hal Wallis learned of her decision from a news announcement on the BBC and called Paul immediately. He was apoplectic, Paul told Dolores, vowing that, if she ever changed her mind, she would not work again in the Industry. Over time Wallis mellowed, and he let her know on many occasions that he would welcome her back at any time with open arms.

I was allowed to take two calls that just happened to come in during a period of free time. Neither was monitored. One was from Elvis. “I don’t want to bother you”, he said. “I just want you to know I’m very happy about what you are doing and to tell you I’m praying for you.” After that I would hear from him only occasionally, usually in postscripts on letters from his cousin Gene Smith, who remained a faithful friend and correspondent over the years
.

The other call was from Stephen Boyd, who tried to sound supportive but, I could tell, was not thrilled with my move. Still, he promised to visit as soon as it was permitted
.

By the third day, mail to Dolores began trickling into the monastery. As was the custom, all her mail was read first by Mother Anselm, not to censor her letters but to be aware of their content so that she could discuss with Dolores its significance to her interior life.

—
Still, my immediate reaction was that she was going to get quite an education
.

After the tremors subsided, reactions took over. They varied from happiness to cautious support to rage. Bert Hicks was furious, less perhaps over his daughter’s decision than that Dolores hadn’t told him herself that she was entering religious life. His wife Liliana remembered, “His mother called to tell him. He immediately began drinking and tried to reach Dolores at the monastery, but he wasn’t allowed to speak to her. Fuming, he then tried to call the pope in Rome, and he complained to anyone who would listen to him that his daughter shouldn’t be there. Bert never got over this. He drank even more heavily following Dolores’ entrance.”

After he had calmed down, Bert did send Dolores a telegram containing a brief message—a quote he dimly recalled from his Catholic boyhood: “Remember, honey, in the words of John of the Cross, ‘In the evenings you will be judged on love.’ ”

—Daddy got it wrong. Saint John of the Cross wrote, “In the evening
of life
you will be judged on love
.”

Phil Gersh was stunned. “I couldn’t imagine she would want to give up the most promising career of all of the young actresses then. I thought she was doing that to avoid getting married.” Harry Bernsen sent her a gold-plated razor blade with a note: “You’ve just committed suicide.” Letters of encouragement were received from coworkers Lois Nettleton, Paula Prentiss, Brad Dillman, Hugh O’Brian and Myrna Loy. Industry friends—Joan Crawford, Irene Dunne and Loretta Young—sent affectionate notes of support.

Dillman remembered being happy for Dolores. “It was wonderful casting. I was always aware that she was deeply religious, but she never forced her beliefs on anyone.” Dillman’s “wonderful casting” observation was echoed by others who had worked with her, among them Connie Francis, Anthony Franciosa, Stuart Whitman and Frank Gorshin.

Paula Prentiss recalled, “It felt right. It’s not easy for any soul to find God. And Dolores had a full life in Hollywood, a skyrocketing career, a future. But she heard another call.” Lois Nettleton learned of Dolores’ entrance when she was on a personal appearance tour for
Come Fly with
Me. “Our publicity man just casually said to me, ‘Did you hear about Dolores? She became a nun.’ Well, I was totally shocked at first, but very soon everything slipped into place. I always thought of her as being close to God.”

Her movie papa, Anthony Quinn, wrote that she had his “hopes, prayers and love. . . . May I write again? I need your help so often. I’m about to start [the movie]
Barabbas
, and I am finding a lot of myself in him. Like Barabbas, I am in constant turmoil and long to meet Peter and find rest.”

Sister Dolores Marie was not surprised by the news; neither was she overjoyed. I don’t think she objected to my decision—she did, in fact, support it over the years—but down deep she loved being the aunt of a movie actress. She had shared stories of my career with her community and became, I suspect, somewhat celebrated vicariously
.

Father White was surprised, “happily so”, he wrote. “I knew you had a fine sense of values, but I did not realize it would reach as high as the religious life.” Father Mike Doody did not believe my decision was the right one. He thought my position in Hollywood enabled me to do much for the Church. “There are so many nuns already”, he said. “You don’t
need
to be a nun
.”

Her Marymount school chum Gail Lammerson kept the letter Dolores sent to her, which said, “With all my heart I believe it is my real vocation. All else has been a rehearsal for the big number. But rehearsals are always shown up for what they are—a pretend game that never quite generates the spark of opening night.” Sheila Hart McGuire remembered, “I wasn’t prepared to hear that she had chosen a cloistered order. A life devoted to prayer was baffling to me. Eventually I came to understand and support her choice.”

Don Robinson had gone through a rough patch. There were times when Don was deeply angry. Much of his anger was directed at Mother Benedict and Mother Placid for what he perceived as their meddling. “I felt Dolores and I had a holy commitment to God in one another that should be honored by the monastery, not one they wanted her to break. I was angry with God, too. I remember going to the altar rail one morning at Mass. I knelt to receive Communion, and I couldn’t receive it because I thought that is what took her away. I got up and walked out of the church. I had to work things out within myself. I couldn’t work it out with a friend and certainly not with a priest. It had to be me and God.”

At Dolores’ instruction, Frank Liberman had called me with the news several days before her entrance, explaining that she didn’t want me to learn of her move in the papers. I kept my mouth shut. If the news did not extinguish the feelings I continued to hold since our breakup, it did put an end to the expectation that eventually we would be together again. Somehow I had no doubt that this was for keeps.

It fell to the portress, Mother Mary Aline, to fend off the media. Requests for interviews were made mostly by telephone, but some reporters—and fans too—actually came to the monastery door and asked to see Dolores. Mother Mary Aline was nothing if not formidable; her “Miss Hart is not available” left no doubt that there was nothing further to say.

Letters from family and friends were given to Dolores. But there were also many letters from people all over the world whom Dolores did not know. At first members of the Community attempted to answer them with a form letter: “Dolores Hart is not able to take mail at this time, but she appreciates your interest and wishes you to know that you are in her prayers.” But there was soon such an avalanche of letters that the nuns couldn’t handle it all. Dolores received permission to contact Gladys Hart, the woman who had organized her fan club. Gladys agreed to help, and the letters addressed to Dolores Hart at the monastery or at the studios were forwarded to her.

—
Gladys replied to every letter and faithfully continued to respond throughout the next two years. When all the letters were eventually passed on to me, I was moved to find that many were from young people expressing their renewed faith
.

Harriett remained at the monastery for fourteen days, and guest mistress Mother Placid was in charge of her. “We didn’t want her to be alone unless she wished to—you don’t just leave Mom hung up on a tree limb. When someone has entered, I often talk with a mom or dad and try to air out all the scary things so that they can begin to recognize something they can trust. We worked through her feelings together, and she made a good show of understanding them.”

Since I had known Harriett pretty well, I wondered aloud if she had presented a sympathetic face while inside she was churning—in short, a performance. Mother Placid replied, “She made a great effort to be supportive of Dolores’ decision, but I didn’t think it was something she felt she ought to say. Harriett was still able to see Dolores, of course—we’re pretty civilized around here. We don’t just say, “You’ve lost your daughter—bonk!” But now, of course, she had to see Dolores behind the grille.”

That separation made Mom very uncomfortable. She said it was going to be hard to relate to me if she had to do it through bars and said she could not find a reason why anyone would keep a mother from her child. I let her go on as long as she needed and then tried to explain as best I could that this was not something Regina Laudis had thought up but was an age-old custom. The grille was not meant to cut us apart. Quite the contrary, the grille is a sign of life
.

With tears streaming, she said, “Well then, kiddo, I guess I will have to start thinking of it as a kind of trellis holding up my roses
.”

—
Interesting that she used the analogy of a trellis. The grille could be understood as a sort of trellis supporting the life growing inside
.

“The good thing”, Mother Placid continued, “was that, for the first days at least, it was just mother and daughter, because with someone else it could get complicated.”

Complicated is hardly the word. Harriett had called Esther on the day of Dolores’ entrance, and two days later one irate grandmother was on the Regina Laudis doorstep. Esther plopped herself down on the ground directly in front of the Great Gate and vowed loudly and long, “I’m not leaving until you let her out.”

—
I was told that Granny had arrived but not that she was creating a commotion. I didn’t need to be told that
.

“I don’t think Mrs. Kude was open to it”, Mother Placid said in magnificent understatement. “She didn’t exactly hold her tongue. She was strong-willed, strong-minded, strong-spoken. I had great sympathy for her. The real complication was clear, however. Both women claimed right of parentage.” After four days, Esther gave up and went home, still deeply angry and resentful.

I knew Granny well enough to be pretty sure that once she stewed for a while, she would, as the realist she had always been, face the truth that there was nothing she could do to change things. A few days after Granny’s retreat, I sent her a letter asking her if she could find a pair of plain sandals and enclosed a pattern I had made of my right foot. Granny wrote back immediately, saying simply that she was “sending a pair in A width because sandals in a larger width would be bound to make the foot spread
.”