Simon Sebag Montefiore's search for: a) Elvis'sgirlfriend; b)
religion; c) himself.
HAVE TWO IMAGES OF A MONASTERY: ONE IS A SINISTER PLACE OF DANK
CORRIDORS, ICY CELLS, AND COLD STONE; THE OTHER A KIND OF MEDIEVAL,
MONTY-PYTHONESQUE FARCE. THE ABBEY OF REGINA LAUDIS IN BETHLEHEM,
CONNECTICUT, WHERE I STAYED FOR SEVERAL DAYS AS A GUEST OF THE
BENEDICTINE ORDER, IS NEITHER. ENTERING THIS WORLD IS LIKE STEPPING BACK
INTO A QUAINT, RUSTIC PARADISE THAT EXISTED LONG AGO--IN THE AGE OF
OXEN-YOKED PLOWS AND HORSE-DRAWN CARRIAGES.
I visited the abbey--working with the nuns as they brought in their
harvest--because it was the home of a romantic and true story of
Hollywood, God, and Elvis that has mystified America for 30 years. In
1962, Dolores Hart was a 24-year-old movie star with Grace Kelly looks
and 11 films already to her credit, including Where the Boys Are, Loving
You, and King Creole. In the latter two she costarred with Elvis Presley.
There were rumors of a love affair and, later, of a child born of the
couple's supposed tryst. Then, in 1963, she gave it all up to become a
nun--joining a cloistered monastery and disappearing from celebrityhood
forever.
Ever since, Hart's exquisite beauty and her friendship with Elvis
Presley in the fresh dawn of his fame have made her the subject of lurid
legends. In a society that regards Hollywood fame as Heaven, we presume
that someone who gives it all up must be either crazy, ungrateful, or
tainted by some terrible scandal.
Her religious vows have prevented Mother Dolores (as she is now
known) from answering such questions as: Did she have a love affair with
Elvis? Did she bear the King's child--a Dauphin of rock 'n' roll? What
kind of life does she lead today and does she ever regret giving up her
star's crown for a nun's halo? More generally, why give up the routines
of the rat race for the rigors of the monastery?
When an ex-lion tamer named Philip Stanic from Gary, Indiana,
changed his name to Elvis Presley, Jr., in 1990, began a career as an
Elvis impersonator, and claimed he was the fruit of Elvis's passionate
affair with Dolores Hart in 1961, the press leapt on the story. Mother
Dolores, banned from formal interviews by the Archbishop of Hertford,
could not answer the accusations against her. Despite the attempts of a
series of investigative journalists, they could not speak with her, nor
even confirm that it was her they had seen while attending services at
the monastery's quaint chapel. But as it seemed to me that she would want
the truth told, I began a personal quest to speak with her that was
almost as weird but ultimately as satisfying as Hart's own spiritual
journey.
A combination of talent and looks--that cherubic innocence mixed
with feline sensuality--made Hart a star almost overnight. She survived
her turbulent family (her parents were alcoholics) by converting to
Catholicism at the age of 10. At 18, in 1956, Paramount signed her to a
seven-year contract.
Thirty-seven years later I called the abbey for the first time and
asked to speak to her. The nun at the gate took a message but warned me
that Mother Dolores was unlikely to return the call. Minutes later, my
phone rang. It was a woman named Barbara Simon, who said she was calling
"on behalf of the abbey" to say that Dolores Hart would not speak but
that the allegations of the young man calling himself Elvis Presley, Jr.,
were lies. When I asked her where she was calling from, the phone went
dead.
Now fully intrigued, I set out to enlist the help of another
classic character of the silver screen: Patricia Neal, the stunning,
Oscar-winning star of Hud and Breakfast at Tiffany's. Once Roald Dahl's
wife, once Gary Cooper's lover, she had been felled in her prime by a
near-fatal stroke. She recovered, I knew, with the help of...the Abbey of
Regina Laudis.
THE FORMIDABLE MISS NEAL--charming, gravelly, and outrageous, met
me in a New York City diner and told me that it was Maria Cooper,
daughter of Gary Cooper, who introduced both her and Dolores Hart to
Regina Laudis. She and Dolores spoke often and perhaps, if I was a good
boy, she purred, she would mention me to Mother Dolores. "If you're
lucky," the old screen siren added raffishly.
Days passed without a word. Just when it seemed my quest was over,
the phone call came. I recognized the voice on the telephone the moment I
picked it up. Even if I did not remember its distinctive trill from all
those films, it was possibly the softest and most graceful voice I had
ever heard:
"My name is Mother Dolores. I know that you called for me."
At once I asked if we could meet, but she reminded me that they
were a closed order at the abbey: "The only reason I am talking to you is
out of courtesy to your relationship with Patricia." Afraid that our
conversation might end as abruptly as the mysterious Ms. Simon's, I
wasted no time in asking her about Elvis Presley. Mother Dolores denied
she ever had any love affair with him, quaintly calling him "Mr.
Presley."
"I had a very good and sound and clean relationship with Mr.
Presley; we were good friends. Mr. Presley was one of the finest persons
I ever worked with in Hollywood. So no one can spoil our association.
During the time we worked on it, we were good friends on the set and we
had a good working relationship. We liked each other but we were not...we
were never romantically linked. I was never in that kind of association
with him."
I asked about the ex-lion tamer who claimed to be her son.
Tags:
abbey of regina laudis,
benedictine order,
bethlehem connecticut,
cold stone,
Dolores Hart,
elvis presley,
exquisite beauty,
grace kelly,
hollywood fame,
horse drawn carriages,
king creole,
love affair,
nun,
oxen,
plows,
prayer,
pythonesque,
rat race,
rigors,
rumor,
s child,
scandal,
simon sebag montefiore,
sinister place
