The Hiltons: The True Story of an American Dynasty (63 page)

Barron Hilton’s deposition:

The Francesca Factor

T
he foundation is trying to wear me down,” Barron Hilton complained. He and his wife, Marilyn, were having a meeting with two business associates at the Hilton home in Bel-Air. It was the end of 1984. By this time, Conrad Hilton had been gone for five years, and the matter of his will was still not resolved. Barron was now fifty-seven, but looked older than his years, the lengthy legal battle over his father’s estate having taken its toll.

“I don’t understand how these people who have known you since you were a kid could do this to you,” Marilyn said. She was hurt, and those close to Barron felt she had good reason. After all, the foundation was comprised of people who had known Hilton for decades, such as Olive Wakeman; Spearl “Red” Ellison, the former bellboy who had once loaned Conrad $500 and who then worked his way up the ranks of the organization; Vernon Herndon, Robert Groves, and Thomas Wilcox, all longtime Hilton Hotels Corporation executives; Robert Buckley, the former doctor of Conrad’s son Nicky; and even Barron’s brother Eric. All were dedicated to preserving what they believed to be Conrad’s wishes. That said, none really had the power of Donald Hubbs and James E. Bates. For instance, most certainly if Eric had had his way, the present disagreement would have been quickly resolved, and likely in favor of his brother.

“Well, as they say, it’s just business,” Barron remarked wearily.

“But how dare they try to impose their will on your father?” she continued. She said that he, of all people, would know what Conrad had intended with the will.

“Jim Bates has it in his head that he knows better than me,” Barron said.

“The nerve!” Marilyn exclaimed.

One of the more interesting aspects of the present conflict over Conrad’s will was that it pitted longtime allies against each other. For instance, Myron Harpole had long represented Barron (and had just done so in the case filed by Francesca), but now he was representing the foundation
against
Barron. Not only that, but James E. Bates had also represented Barron Hilton for many years, was a close personal friend, and, along with Barron, was coexecutor of the estate. The battle over Conrad’s stock now also pitted him against Barron. Many people long associated with the foundation were longtime associates and friends of Conrad’s and Barron’s—such as Conrad’s tax adviser and now the president of the foundation, Donald Hubbs. Because of their positions with the foundation, however, they were all forced to align themselves against Barron. (Despite these tense times, Hubbs remained Barron Hilton’s business partner in Eastridge Development Co., a $19 million real estate venture, split 80/20 between Hilton and Hubbs. Hubbs was still also involved in Hilton’s Vita-Pakt Citrus Products company.)

“They act like my dad didn’t know what he was doing,” Barron added. He further stated that Conrad was obviously a very smart man and must have realized that there was a good chance the stock he provided with the option would appreciate. One of the associates, according to his memory of the meeting, brought up the fact that for a time after Conrad died, the stock actually plummeted, and that if the stock had continued to depreciate, Barron would have taken a big hit. “It’s the nature of the stock market,” he said. “Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose.” Marilyn then made the point that the reason the stock had appreciated was solely because of Barron’s management skills. She added that since Conrad’s death, no one associated with the foundation had contributed in any way whatsoever to the continued success of the Hilton hotel business. It was all because of Barron’s efforts that the stock now had such excellent value, at least in her estimation. “They should be
thanking
you,” she said, “not punishing you.”

“You know, this is really the result of the Francesca Factor, don’t you?” one of the other associates offered.

“Interesting,” Barron said, nodding his head.

“The Francesca Factor” is what the Hilton camp had begun to term Francesca Hilton’s impact on the dispensation of the estate. Because Barron’s fight was not about the wealth that Conrad had accumulated, but about the post-death appreciation of a large portion of stock, some observers felt that Francesca had actually done Barron a huge favor. After all, it was because of the delay she had caused that the stock had so much time to appreciate. But the truth, as Barron saw it, was that had he been able to exercise his option and buy the stock in January 1979, immediately after Conrad’s death, it would have appreciated under his stewardship anyway, and the profit would have been his without question. “The Francesca Factor did us no favors here,” said the associate. With a chuckle, Barron remarked that if Francesca only knew of the chaos she had caused, she would be “just a little bit delighted.” He actually had no beef with her, though. She had fought for what she believed was right, and she gave a good fight, too. That’s what Hiltons do; Barron said he respected her for it.

At this point, one of the associates present then took a leap and posed what was by now an unpopular thesis among those in Barron Hilton’s close-knit circle. “Is it possible that James Bates just screwed this whole goddamn thing up?” he asked. “Is it possible that Conrad never intended for you to make a profit like this?”

Barron didn’t explode; that wasn’t like him, anyway, just like it was never like his father to lose his temper. He mulled over the question. “I’m not sure it matters,” he said, his tone level. He said that his father taught him to take advantage of every situation that could potentially provide a profit. They now had a big opportunity to do just that, and they had no choice but to take advantage of it. “I, for one, believe that my father fully intended it,” he concluded. “But it doesn’t matter one way or the other. I’m not walking away from it.”

They then all started talking about Conrad, sharing their memories of him. It was clear that everyone still missed him terribly. “I was maybe thirteen,” Barron recalled with a soft smile, “and, you know, my dad was a very busy man. But Nick and I had this lemonade stand with which we planned to make a fortune,” he said with a laugh. Barron then explained that he and Nick offered Conrad the opportunity to share in the potential profits of their exciting new venture. They would give him a third of every ten cents made. However, he would have to be the one to actually make the lemonade. Conrad decided it would be a good investment. “So, as busy as he was, there was my old man, in the kitchen, trying to figure out how to make a decent lemonade. Finally he came out with a pitcher. He proudly poured the lemonade into a glass and handed it to me. I took a sip. I spat it out. I looked up at him. And I said, ‘
Boy
, that’s really
lousy
.’ ” Everyone had a good laugh. “Yes, those were the days,” Barron said wistfully. “Those were certainly the days.”

Each Other

I
did the best I could,” Francesca Hilton said. “Now I have to just put it behind me.”

It was the fall of 1984, almost two years after her appeal was denied, but it was still sometimes on her mind, as it was on her mother’s. Francesca was speaking to Zsa Zsa over dinner at a restaurant in West Hollywood. Zsa Zsa, now sixty-seven, had just come from a fitting and photo session related to an upcoming event at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel. Therefore she was in full Zsa Zsa Gabor regalia—an expertly tailored pink bugle-beaded pantsuit, her hair, now more platinum than blonde, perfectly coiffed, lots of expensive jewelry. Diners at other tables couldn’t take their eyes off her.

Zsa Zsa’s most recent marriage—her eighth—to character actor Felipe de Alba a year earlier, had been annulled just twenty-four hours after the ceremony because she didn’t know that her union to husband number seven, Michael O’Hara, hadn’t been legally terminated. “It’s so sad about Felipe,” she remarked with a twinkle in her eye. “Do you know how many men I will have to sleep with just to get over him?” It seemed that there would always be some sort of high-stakes drama unfolding in the life of Zsa Zsa Gabor—and she would always have a great line to go along with it.

Though Zsa Zsa managed to thrive no matter the circumstances, recent years had been difficult for Francesca. In the end, though, it could be said that Francesca proved herself to be as much a Hilton as anyone else in the family, just by virtue of the tenacity and persistence she demonstrated in her quest for acknowledgment. In that regard, Conrad might have been proud of her. True, he never would have approved of her taking legal action against his estate, but he probably wouldn’t have begrudged her right to fight for what she believed was hers. After all, he was always a man of his own convictions, whether in business or in his personal life. As far as Francesca was concerned, she was still—and always would be—the daughter of Conrad Hilton. It had never been proven otherwise, had it?

Also at the table with Zsa Zsa and Francesca was Zsa Zsa’s new personal assistant, a young man named Timothy Barrows. “If you don’t mind me asking, exactly how much did your father leave you, Francesca?” Barrows asked.

Francesca shot him an irritated look. “
Excuse me
,” she said, “but…
who are you, again
?”

“Oh, he’s my new secretary,” Zsa Zsa answered for Barrows. She explained that he was her fourth in just six weeks; she was having “
terrible
luck with the help.” Then, turning to him, she snapped, “Mind your own business. Just sit there and be quiet!”

“Well, look, it was his money and his right to do whatever he wanted with it,” Francesca said, trying to be objective about situation, all of this according to Barrows’s memory. “What’s done is done.”

“Well, I for one am not satisfied,” Zsa Zsa said. “I still think there must be
something
we can do…”

Francesca shook her head. “You know, life doesn’t always have to be a battle, Mother,” she said. “A war to be won.” Though she was trying to be positive, Barrows would remember that the expression of sadness on Francesca’s face suggested that the pain of this conflict was still deeply embedded in her heart.

Zsa Zsa nodded. “Maybe you’re right, Francie,” she concluded, now seeming a little defeated. Then, after a beat—“I’d like to make a proposal to you,” she said, taking her daughter’s hand. “Let’s make a promise to never fight again.” From the sincere expression on her face, Zsa Zsa seemed to genuinely mean it. She added that she was “just too old and tired” to argue with her own daughter these days. “You and I, we belong to each other,” she concluded, her eyes filled with sudden warmth. “We’re all we have, Francie. So, what do you say?”

Francesca looked at her mother with mock astonishment. “I would say you have had
way
too much to drink,” she shot back with a cackle. “And I would say, woman, you are
dreaming
!”

“And I would say…
cheers to that
,” Zsa Zsa Gabor exclaimed, raising her glass of wine.

Mother and daughter then shared a hearty laugh. Yes, they’d been through an awful lot together. But they still had each other.

Eric and Pat Divorce

B
y 1985, six years had passed since the death of Conrad Nicholson Hilton. During that time, his son Eric was divorced from Pat after twenty-nine years of marriage and four children; the divorce was finalized in 1983. “We grew apart,” is all Patricia Skipworth Hilton wishes to say about the breakup of her marriage. “Eric is a wonderful man and I would never have a negative thing to say about him, ever. I admit, though, that it was sad. The end of a long marriage is always difficult, but what can one do? Life does go on.”

Pat Hilton remains single and lives in Houston. “I have a very happy life,” she says. “The days as a Hilton wife are far behind me, but I have fond memories of my sisters-in-law, Marilyn and Trish, and my brothers-in-law, Barron and Nicky. Oh yes, we were at the center of
everything
, or at least that’s the way it felt to us at the time. These days, I’m happy to have a much more quiet life here in Texas.